Testo In Trouble - Shyheim
Testo della canzone In Trouble (Shyheim), tratta dall'album Wu-Chronicles: Chapter 2
Uhh, yeah, word
That's my word Allah
Get me out of this one, please
I'll never do it again, for real
Somebody help me, I swear Allah
Please make everything be okay
I'm in the well I can't get out, I'm trapped
For real, c'mon, I'm tellin you
Nobody gon' be there for you, I swear Allah
You gon' be all alone son, I'm tellin you better listen to me
I'm your son Allah, that's my word, listen son listen
For real, for real, I'mma keep it real, I'mma keep it real
Three to six facin, new indictment
Plus violation of probation, I had to do the boogie-oogie
Absent from court like class I played hookey
The pressure's on, tippy tippy I'm on my toes
Fuck risin to the occasion, the temperature been rose
Set it off like intros, blast you and your kinfolks
A troublemaker, bitch taker, a Scorpio Naughty by Nature
My unit bring the flavor, we cake up like makeup
And in New York, fuck the, Daily News, Shyheim I make the paper
Want a anchor and a yacht, drop top three and a quarter
My mother said people in hell want ice water
It'll be a manslaughter, private eye that's a order
I know where them cowards be standin, on the corners
Send Cain a money order, one love cousin
I thought it was when it wasn't, the dust had me buggin
Word up son
When you down, they scatter like roaches
They be scared to death, pull them burners out them holsters
Yo, word to my mother I think they eat hostess
Huh, for real son
But yo I'mma bring it like yo, yo, yo
How the fuck y'all was thinkin, Shyheim Abe Lincoln
So what you ain't hear me on the Clan album featurin
It's best I'm kept secretive, like Mason Tree
They wanna hold me captive in Babylon like Julius Maccabees
That's blasphemy, Shaolin'll blast for me
I eat niggas like plates, from Applebee's
Wu-Tang Killa Beez, we cause casualties
Collect annual fees, from y'all pussy-ass niggas
Whoo album shoulda came with a, piece of gum
And a tattoo sticker, a lot of my niggas
They return to the earth, and in front of they hearse
I kick the same verse, cause everything the pastor said
Was fake and it hurt, that's my word
Niggas don't be there, for real
When you gone
All you get is a five min', five minute conversation (word up)
They like yo remember him? (for real)
Remember them? (word up son)
Man, you probably won't even get no flowers on your tombstone
(I'm tellin you) But when you hungry
But them was your homies, niggas'll be stingy
And them the niggas you came with
When I was ten years old I realized that with a O
I could flip that and bring back a brick and coke
Never took a short, never took a snort
Caught a warrant in New York for not appearin in court
But I still survived, some of my closest homies died
Murdered and homicides, I just couldn't let it slide
Fuck money, jewelry and bein a rap star
I hopped out shootin, soon as my bitch stopped the car
Shyheim with the scar did it, that's what everybody said
On my trial minutes, they thought I was finished
But then I got acquitted, and popped niggas in they eye
For the fuckin spinach, not for olive oil
Yeah, word, for real
To all my real peoples, that hold it down
On the real, one love, one thug to the last slug
To all my niggas, bein down for the law
People that come in different shapes
Sizes, forms, snakes and all that
Man suck a dick til you hit the, word up
Keepin it gully, keepin it bloody, keepin it real
Shy feel you man, Shy feel you
We down, word up son, I'm tellin y'all, tellin y'all
For real, it's on nigga
Yeah, twenty-seven, Wu-Tang, Shaolin, Staten Island
Credits
Writer(s): S. Franklin, Shyheim Franklin
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