Artist: Shyne Album: Godfather Buried Alive Song: For The Record Translated title:
For The Record letra
For The Record songtext
For The Record lyrique
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[Verse 1] Ohh you rhyme witta slug and sum shots in his face He rhyme witta slug tryna sound like ma$e Listened to his tape, this lil' nigga used to sound like cake Maybe I'm juss killin, maybe he juss snitchin See a whole lot different when my sales ecliped What I see is straight bug, straight thoro Yea he be a killa, you kill wit bugs Rather look at the facts not the hype Like who got shot and who got knifed Who keep gettin struck, but don't neva strike Hope the beef go away but the feds indict I know yo card nigga, it's so clear You juss wanna sell record you don't want warfare You don't wanna ride you wanna get rich and hide
These niggaz would've died if they shot me nine times Heyy it's juss for the best Take this mob shit seriouse, please respect it
[Hook] And there go the shots stay rippin 'em apart Cuz it's a blood comin outta his slum It's murdah bloody homicide is what they cry When they losin' their life When muhfuckaz ax me how I sleep at night Pretty cold witta slug might heat me tight Pray to god while I'm gone, is what underneath feels like It's my work by the surf when they turn off the lights
[Verse 2] You ain't kill humma 'cause if you did Why you ain't get the pen after all of that hit You know I know, that if you live That shit that you spit, somebody got somebody Somebody got jumped, somebody got cut Yoo pac's a nigga, nobody got shot Nobody got flushed, you screamin what what Okay okay killa you'sa slut Think about it, enoughs enoughs I'm tryna show 'em whoes who And what is what I mean how can I respect you When them niggaz that left you ain't none of 'em blessed you (not nobody) You know where they are, where they perform Bust yo gun, stop makin songs Please no more ghetto quran You got money now it's time to bomb And that's juss fo the top Take this mob shit seriouse please respect it
And there go the shots stay rippin 'em apart [2x] Cuz it's a blood comin outta his slum
[Verse 3] Death of perfection as I move witout motion Ain't no nigga in his game doin the shit that I'm quotin' Take a good look 'cause you'll neva a see enought of me Might be sum otha g's tryna trace n color me But I believe in the ways of old Slice these niggaz throat tryna tell on po That shouldn't excist, fuckin snitch Cut of his dick, put it on his lips You really think I was gon' let you slide Fuckin wit me you must be outcho mind You really think jail was gon' make thinks right Nigga I will shoot you till you lose yo life I was mindin' my own, word got back, niggaz talkin bout po I was like ohh, god must be ready fo this nigga to go I ain't lyin this is the mob You got yo break come finish yo job Juss don't get the feds involved And I'mma reunite you wit yo moms Rip I guess this ain't juss music Cuz jail only made me much mo' ruthless (nigga) And the bitch nigga knew this That's why he tryed to sign me to g-unit Tell 'em how you made me offers (I don't want that blood I'mma godfather) Jumped on every street corner Hurts yo heart that you don't get that honor The feds I paid fo that 10 years up top I sell 'em much shop Both of ya was blood Took the bus wit cuz Want gun fo gun I earned my lug You, you juss pathetic You neva bg, bespite yo average Take this mob shit serioue, you gon' respect it Tha's juss fo the record
[Hook] And there go the shots stay rippin 'em apart Cuz it's a blood comin outta his slum It's murdah bloody homicide is what they cry When they losin' their life When muhfuckaz ax me how I sleep at night Pretty cold witta slug might heat me tight Pray to god while I'm gone, is what underneath feels like It's my work by the surf when they turn off the light
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