Godfather Lyrics - Godfather Buried Alive - Shyne

Uh huh, Uh huh, Brooklyn Vietnam 

What you, Uh yeah, Uh, Come on 

Oh no, big Shyne Po 

Back up in the motherfuckin heezy for sheezy 

Gimme a tech that don't jam (bang bang) 

I'm tryin to jucks some more grams and work this whole thing 

My minds poisoned, corrupted and diseased 

360 ki's 

Money make the world spin 

I make your chest smoke 

Have your mother singing hymms 

Particles of your brains up on your tims 

Kiss you before I twist you 

170 miles 

Headed for disaster faster 

I put it down right 

Bustin off these rounds like 

Real niggaz is kings 

You ain't rockin' that crown right 

Harder more PK watches 

Topless, bitches in cars 

Only meals could heal my scars 

[Chorus] 

Niggaz want to rhyme like shine like me 

They supposed to 

Niggaz want to bust their guns like me 

They supposed to 

Niggaz want to grind like crime like me 

They supposed to 

Niggaz want to mash like me, dash like me 

[Repeat] 

Allegations got me pacin' 

Grand jury wouldn't understand my fury 

For fast cars and jewelry 

I could give a fuck if there's a heaven for a G 

This is heaven for me 

Go to trial never plea 

Do a bullet and come home to the throne 

I don't rhyme, I just talk about this life that's mine 

I've seen niggaz die, in front of my eyes 

Doin' my filth 

Niggaz is expiring like milk 

Different strokes for different folks 

Just give me, different coke in different boats 

Black Aristotle Onassis 

All I see is crack addicts and automatics 

You rap niggaz is faggots 

y'all cannot be serious 

I'm in coupes with gucci interiors 

Airin' out your areas 

Tech nines, two in the flex and shit 

Lookin' at myself like 

Yo, I'm the best in this 

[Chorus x2] 

Sometimes I really wonder 

What's it all about? 

How many bitches can I fuck until I get out 

How many ki's can I cut, guns can I bust 

Wigs can I push, spots can I juck 

Every single one, 'cause I'm a fuckin' savage 

Til I'm cremated, most hated, self made 

Blood type G 

All these young hustlers want to bubble like me 

They supposed to 

Sippin on syrup, until I perish 

Pickin' bitches off the run-way 

Look forward to, gun-play 

Go to sleep with one eye shut 

Wake up and do the same shit 

I ain't never gonna change bitch 

And that's the cycle 

I don't want to be like Michael 

More like Darrell Porter 

Gettin' shipments at the border 

Yeah, it's a wrappity wrap 

[Chorus x4]