Текст песни Shyheim f Gutta - The Surah, слова песни Shyheim f Gutta

Текст песни Shyheim f Gutta - The Surah

Shyheim f Gutta - The Surah слова песни

[Intro: Show Stoppa]Yeah, shit crazy out here, manNahwhatimean? We in the streetsFor real, though, we livin` the shitLotta niggaz is talkin` the shit, manNahwhatimean, every day is a struggleFeel me, uh... yeah, Show Stoppa, manGutta! Aiyo[Show Stoppa]These cold thoughts got me hot sweatin`Pictures in my mind, blood, we tryin` hurryLike a center rush, I don`t get itAnd I can`t catch it, see when you mock meLife a dream, with a message, but I can`t catch itGot me all jammed up, like burn a wall, with the hammerYou try to pop, it`s all jammed upSoft skin gettin` tough, and the paper got me missin` SalotAnd the paper got me pitchin` the rockI hate baseball, wait, y`allWe drop bombs, hail mary, you should listen to PacMention Pac, gotta mention BiggieSo I got a fat black hammer fam, they call it biggieYou wishin` I give you one more chance, I ain`t BiggieCock that thang back, blaow, is you ready to die?They said he thoughtless, heartless and out of controlBut I`m a Muslim, mock me, just watchin` my soulBelieve, Latin laha, in AllahNo God, but Allah, and Muhammed is his messengerBut you hot, wound up, disectin` yaBody all open, 26 shots`ll leave ya body all openS.K., bisectin` ya, and the lead and shells is hot, dogIf it`s a loud beef, get ate like a hot doogWe Muslim, and it get no realer than thatYou can`t touch a Monk, man, and just look overAnd he stuck around, now I`m spillin` the gatDressed in black face mask, grillin` the caferI submit with to will of Allah, with no ratP-R-A-Y, five times a day, I put my hair downSeven days a week, I put my hair down12 months a year, all year round, muslims put they hair down[Shyheim]Whose the kid with his mugshot on the cover of the SourceShy show you how to rob niggaz, not in a rap songThat`s 3 minutes and 45 seconds too longI could hold a pale horse, blowin` a Newport shortNobody does it bigger than my Bottom Up niggazSo much coke on the street, I put Pepsi out of businessShove my metal in your mouth, like braces, but I`m not dentistHip hop fans that listen, don`t want me to finish this mischiefI`m a little, so I`mma pray for these niggazLike, Allah, please forgive `em, for testin` ShyheimCuz, he does not know that, I am a prophetAnd the pro with them two`s, cuz I use, is my logicI`m everywhere, so keep your head up, like a Pac headKill me or I`mma kill you, nigga fuck it[Interlude: Show Stoppa]Shyheim, is crazy right?Nahwhatimean, we for real out here, Gutta![Chorus 2X: Show Stoppa]If it`s beef, then it`s to eat, mission thatBefore we get, homey, I keep stuff AllahBetter ask for forgiveness, homey, y`all lawCuz everybody won`t make it to the promissed land[5 Mics]My struggles is deep, my pain is deepGot me in trouble in these streets, my faith is weekI try to stay focused, but the, pain is hell24 hours a day, hit a dormant cellI used to go to truma, duece and do 36 rock gotsNew surahs, and mad ayatsTil my faith got it week, started hittin` the blockPut the Koran down, just a pitch on the blockLook at me now, Sa-tan, got me ditchin` the copsI know I`ll probably feel of fire, when my casket dropDogs, I full a stomach full of flees and birdsWhen niggaz do, robberies, crush crack to crumbsI`m from Brooklyn, where niggaz get found in they BenzWith the back of the medula, splashed out on the tintWhere the money and church collide, and the gangstas rideThey double barrel, have you ass leavin` all I can rideThis is my turf, since young, I`ve been puttin` in workSurvive, I guess, like throwback jersey shirtsFive beat a nigga, that`ll twist your rideI`m hood, crooked teeth, niggaz what the fifth`s aboutEat your food, have you shittin` out, like hillbilliesChew tobacco, my ocks be, spittin` outLeave you stretched in your truck, with your braids in the backI`m from Brooklyn, nigga, I was trained with the gatLived my live in the streets, I know about homicideHow to hustle, and bang, when the drama ridePitch crack on the block, where the G`s be atRock Timbs, army fatigues, ski masks and hatsOh Allah, why do my pain, gotta be so harshI never destined to be hood, and thrown in cop carsGutta, Bottom Up, Shyheim, walk with me[Bucks]Ever since the days of playin` the dirtBeen through it, jeans, things you never in, up in my knees in itCop a bird, and wing it, the work, debris spinachTappin` the surah, til the fans and them in itI excede the limit, put the weed in the middleWith a crack batch, lit it, sever my peritheal visionSeen myself diminish, and use a cannonWhen my shit touchin`, clear up your aim and kitchenBut I ain`t, gettin` it, so the sound of you doing dishesSit up it, like some Latin bangin` pursuin` the viciousContinous when I picture it, where Allah fit `emWhen you try to get it, and where do the law fit inAnd when will it stop, I don`t make, I just break the rulesReasons for me to make, will do a dentOfficer Lat, academics for the things I doWhen I`m too busy with the things I doAnd it`s becoming a problem, how I`mma say the beef is so loudWhen they conflict, stutter from some mirage shitThe consequences, the end of a long clipLong trip to the trauma center, you harm a MuslimI even look, long at a sisterI`m tellin` you, it`s the wrong decisionPull heat, put it til you put a hole in the center, I know I`m a sinnerThat`s the least I can do, nigga

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Shyheim f Gutta - The Surah
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Shyheim f Gutta

The Surah

Текст песни Shyheim f Gutta - The Surah

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