Shyne - Bad Boyz - Tekst piosenki

Tekst piosenki

[Shyne]

Now tell me who want to fuck with us?
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
I bang - and let your fuckin brains hang, snitches
Fuck all them able bitches with riches
who carry 22's, up in they hosiery
A black teller when my father bust and unloaded me
Think he just finished sniffin a ki, and dippin the D's
Don't hate me, hate Nicky Barnes for hittin my moms
Letting the condom pop, nigga I was born in the drop
Coke boil in the pot, shake the Feds
and bust shots at them street cops
Fuck yo' point is? My point is double fours at your fuckin jaws
Pointed, hollow point shit
Four-point-six, need I say more?
Or do you get the point bitch? C'mon

What type of nigga slang and bang in the streets? (Bad Boyz)
What type of nigga stay in the Trump for weeks? (Bad Boyz)
What type of nigga fly Bentley Coupes? (Bad Boyz)
Aim for the sky, cop the shit then shoot ..

[Shyne]

Minks draggin on the floor - bangin on your whore
Suckin the croissant just examine it for flaws
Pour the Cristal on the way to trial, RICO law
got a nigga head hurtin squirtin til they pull the curtain

Let the money drip dry, hundred dollar bills
wipe the tears from my eyes, no love
Fuck y'all niggaz, hope you die a slow death
as I coke-test and see the lawyers talk of protest
Can't fuck with you weak rap niggaz, witcha gay raps
Runnin 'round talkin this and talkin that
See me in the streets, tried to give me dap
Andrew Cunanan ass niggaz
My two cannons blast niggaz, ass niggaz
Got me fucked up in the game, get your shirt stained
Keep your five mics nigga, give me the 'caine
Do the shit to clean my money dummies, gleamed the wrist out
Cop the pist-al, nigga, talk shit now, uh

[Shyne]

Bling bling, it's a Bad Boy thing
Bullets heat-seekin, streep sweepin, with an evil grin
Watch you die, one love, one life, one Shyne
Y'all niggaz ain't sayin nothin, like a mime
Every line, I live it, I write it with a pencil so niggaz die
of lead poison if they bite it, hate it but recite it
It's a G thang, me and Puff in St. Bart's set it off
Bitches walkin topless with G-strings, menage'
Bust shots at your crew, another charge
As the gulf stream fly through the fog
Make ya popular
Pockets filled with more high notes than the opera
Franklins on top of the - Jacksons
My nigga Ty leave you tired
Bad Boy, repsect it or die, coward