Bury Judas (Game Diss)

Bury Judas (Game Diss) Lyrics Shyne

This lil buster man Game rhymes like po
So rhyme like go
I rhyme like, I be climbin out that roads
the 9 I let it blow, put 5 up in your clothes
head shots leave you snuf,
but climbin through your door
This is blaspemy heh?
your career penned after me
I got shooters out in Cali that'll blast for me
you forgot about your chest,
where your back should be
tight squeeze or rabit speed
Im paris I'm at the plaza, blood ask for me
ungrateful bastard, say your grace aftermail
bow down, pay homage and ask to breathe
or shine tell Moses hop inside motors
thinkin this is showbiz
put you with the blowfish
hand on the toasters, Lamborghini roadsters
80's rappers life, but I turn them into ghosts

[Hook x2]
I think I'm big wolf, young wizzle
clay bone, squeezin triggas,
Gangland, we the mob
Shine MF pow, rap god

smokin the cuban, twistin in my side lots
these sideways rappers hit em with them side shots
9 shots from their 6 or 9 gloc
man all bout the center at the skybox
fuck dudes must be on the dog food
ain't nothing change,
gangland still mob brews,
still flexin, still lettin off the card you
send you straight to the morgue
ain't no lawsuit.
and my little apostle gospel
new car flow and blue breathe into your nostrals
only GOD knows I'm the idol you bow down to
reminiscence a red flag is a ...?
the moms is Jewish. the child is useless
........ bomb in-fluid, I bomb with ...
dump you in the pond, you sewage
I think im big wolf, I aint suing
get what you came for
big bad blood huh, what you scared for?
I shoot the butterfly off your face
and tell jesus piece. smlie at your wake,
yeeeah Im your faith,
you pray to Shyne when you say your rhymes
Im the great
Mob ties, state of mind, empire state
bow down to your grace

(Hook x2)

Think like Problem, act like God
Take your life, I clap that
black man ... , you see rats rab hard
until I pap pap ya'll, world day
Bullets boy snap back off
You see I trap that, hard that, smack that raw
I aint proud to talk about facts SSR
In that black back car, black rap mob
MF pow shine, black rap god
Im milked a grammy, I made the game
I gave em fame
But I aint perfect, I made mistakes
I made a lane.
Yous a tell, whats up blood?
you's a little dummy
my cheerleader, now you does flips like you runnin
you know you love me
rappin like you was me
deported from the country
now your memory got fuzzy,
but I'mma take you back I'm New York
like bumpin, California like....
Caller, I'm a model
Jewish mobsters like bugsy
segal doesnt eagle
myalanski like you clap puffy
feds cant touch me
shout to ...?
Shyne Mf pearl oh so girl.

You may also like...

Comments 0

    Follow Us