| Ride with me as I race through ya hood
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| Give me a fifth that’ll bang and a jury that’ll hang
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| Pants saggin' in that Bentley wagon
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| Ayo that’s my nigga Yacht if the mink is saggin'
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| Since a youth I flipped, on some ruthless shit
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| Had a thing for rings, bling, Coupes and shit
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| Some' bout watchin' Montana come up outta Havana
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| And rule this world made me wanna grab my hammer
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| Fuckin' with the Cheddar Boys
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| Some hustler flip girls instead of boys
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| Keep filthy laweys, for when the FEDs annoy us
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| We keep this shit gangsta nigga from verse to chorus
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| And the Street Lords and Truly Yours
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| Drive Modena Spiders and big exhaust
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| Bleed for the streets love the war
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| My nose bleeds for weeks I love the raw
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| Puncture niggas when I comfort niggas
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| Motor City to Brooklyn Veitnam
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| Nigga it’s on till my flesh is gone
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| And even then I live on in gangsta form
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| What you know about that?
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| Macs and cash nigga how you love that?
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| What you know about that?
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| Doin' it up livin' it up, nigga what?
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| What you know about that?
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| The gully kid put it in your skully kid, bleed nigga what it is
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| What you know about that?
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| Yacht, Cheddar Boys, Streets Lords, truly yours
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| (2nd Verse)
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| It’s the «Godfather Buried Alive»
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| Ayo Po it’s the Ill Na Na stuntin' in 5.0
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| Went to Brooklyn with the Rugers out
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| In Flatbush and I keeps the Kiki poppin' off when the goons is out
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| Yall got a muthafuckin problem when my dude get out
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| Dutty Ay bust a shot for Shyne get the Guiness Stout
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| Thats my word I got the Berken pulled over up on Parkside & Nostrand
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| In the butter scotch Rover
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| I’m ah bad gal style like I’m 'posta
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| Got his comrades in Clinton bustin' nuts on my poster
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| Phone check! |
| Muthafucka hit the yard up
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| Comm stop Mid-State Brooklyn niggas squad up
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| I’m hot steppin in the pink staline seven
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| I’mma stunt till BIG tell me there’s a ghetto up in heaven
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| See through niggas take they time like a man
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| We don’t snitch we don’t sing on the stand but y’all don’t hear me though.
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| (3rd Verse)
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| Money, cars, guns, hoes
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| Sniff some blow and I’m good to go
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| Eagle inflated Federal Bureau Investigated
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| Most hated nigga read the affidavit
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| Uh racing loud pipes
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| Big fucking exhausts burning the turnpike
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| My game so tight I arouse dikes
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| You punk rappers should paying me publishing the way you write
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| And be sampling my life, every line in your rhyme
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| Sound like you wanna be Shyne, and I don’t blame ya
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| Who wouldn’t? |
| Young nigga catching charges
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| Continental Ts parked in garages
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| Menages, odds is
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| I’m the best spittin' it, nigga I’m gettin' it
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| I admit it I was watching New Jack City
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| And fucking with? |
| Goodfellas? |
| Uncle Paul got me dying to ball
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| Every thing I talk about I live it
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| All you hear these rappers rap about I really did it
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| I was designed to hold nines, and grind
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| Step out of line put you in that white line
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| Rearrange ya brain ain’t nothin change
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| You know the game jet planes and cocaine
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| And what I say might be held against me
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| I don’t wanna talk, I’m the hottest nigga in New York |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Gang , by - Shyne. Song from the album godfather buried alive, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп