Song lyrics The gang by Shyne

[Shyne] Uh huh
[Foxy Brown] Uh
[Shyne] Lets get it clear (Uh huh) Brooklyn Vietnam (Thatīs right)
[Foxy Brown] Yo yo... Live from the seven-one-eight yīall; Murder City
[Shyne] Lay down nigga (Itīs the Ill Na Na)
Cut ya dick off put it in ya mouth yīall understand? (Letīs go)

[1st Verse (Shyne)]
Ride with me as I race through ya hood
Give me a fifth thatīll bang and a jury thatīll hang
Pants sagginī in that Bentley wagon
Ayo thatīs my nigga Yacht if the mink is sagginī
Since a youth I flipped, on some ruthless shit
Had a thing for rings, bling, Coupes and shit
Someī bout watchinī Montana come up outta Havana
And rule this world made me wanna grab my hammer
Fuckinī with the Cheddar Boys
Some hustler flip girls instead of boys
Keep filthy laweys, for when the FEDs annoy us
We keep this shit gangsta nigga from verse to chorus
And the Street Lords and Truly Yours
Drive Modena Spiders and big exhaust
Bleed for the streets love the war
My nose bleeds for weeks I love the raw
Puncture niggaz when I comfort niggaz
Motor City to Brooklyn Veitnam
Nigga itīs on till my flesh is gone
And even then I live on in gangsta form

[Chorus]
What you know about that?
Macs and cash nigga how you love that?
What you know about that?
Doinī it up livinī it up, nigga what?
What you know about that?
The gully kid put it in your skully kid, bleed nigga what it is
What you know about that?
Yacht, Cheddar Boys, Streets Lords, truly yours

[2nd Verse (Foxy Brown)]
Itīs the "Godfather Buried Alive"
Ayo Po itīs the Ill Na Na stuntinī in 5.0
Went to Brooklyn with the Rugers out
In Flatbush and I keeps the Kiki poppinī off when the goons is out
Yall got a muthafuckin problem when my dude get out
Dutty Ay bust a shot for Shyne get the Guiness Stout
Thats my word I got the Berken pulled over up on Parkside & Nostrond
In the butter scotch Rover
Iīm ah bad gal style like Iīm īposta
Got his comrades in Clinton bustinī nuts on my poster
Phone check! Muthafucka hit the yard up
Comm stop Mid-State Brooklyn niggaz squad up
Iīm hot steppin in the pink staline seven
Iīma stunt till BIG tell me thereīs a ghetto up in heaven
See through niggaz take they time like a man
We donīt snitch we donīt sing on the stand but yīall donīt hear me though..

[Chorus]

[3rd Verse (Shyne)]
Money, cars, guns, hoes
Sniff some blow and Iīm good to go
Eagle inflated Federal Bureau Investigated
Most hated nigga read the affidavit
Uh racing loud pipes
big fucking exhausts burning the turnpike
My game so tight I arouse dikes
You punk rappers should paying me publishing the way you write
And be sampling my life, every line in your rhyme
Sound like you wanna be Shyne, and I donīt blame ya
Who wouldnīt? Young nigga catching charges
Continental Ts parked in garages
Menages, odds is
Iīm the best spittinī it, nigga Iīm gettinī it
I admit it I was watching New Jack City
And fucking with ?Goodfellas? Uncle Paul got me dying to ball
Every thing I talk about I live it
All you hear these rappers rap about I really did it
I was designed to hold nines, and grind
Step out of line put you in that white line
Rearrange ya brain ainīt nothin change
You know the game jet planes and cocaine
And what I say might be held against me
I donīt wanna talk, Iīm the hottest nigga in New York

[Chorus]