| printable copy of the lyrics to SHOT ME DOWN | |
| [Intro: Lounge Lo]
That's right.. I see you Aiyo, Wigs, you see him? Let's go him |
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[Lounge Lo]
Aiyo, loose goose, run with a deuce and set a truce With a .38, damn Billy, why you had to crack the milli and skate Damn, pardon a nigga, cuz I had to put the 15, AR on the nigga My gun is a talker, and me? A Shaolin New Yorker Fuck that, you can bring your balls and meet on the court My girl taller, and all about the streets and the fork And she know about the heat when it scorch, she got my back And she always losed out, when peepin' the horse And the guns are going off on the Staten, of course Ask the police, how we get clapped on the cross Of course, Park Hill hillbillies, Wild West Jungle Nilz, Now Born, and them Stapletown dust phillies We load the guns and plus we ready And for a out of town nigga, that's a plus for heavy |
Is this song NOT from STATEN ISLAND STAND UP (2004) ? Would you report that? |
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[Molly-Q]
Yo, starving like Marvin Hagler, marvelous Fabulous, five mic poetist, golden grips Holding hits, writing what a wish, like a birthday gift Blowing out candles, gamble, the rap Mickey Mantle Money taker scrambler, smoking weed by the handful Twelve bar vandals, open mics is what I ran through Crack sneakers, wife beaters, benz white juice See the leaning lay back, twisting reefer Puzzle missing pieces, hustle like Jesus Rap bible books, and preachers gotta bust they guns up in the breachers |
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[Shawn Wigs]
Yo, this is Staten Island, you can get crashed like stocks Smack with a green machine, or some classic Reeboks Rock a fox coat, keep a big heater in the lining We in a big lead, O, we slid right past the minors We major, rainbow Skittles, pack flavor We spit and spaz the fuck out, what up neighbor? It's the kings of cliche, muscled your DJ Slid through the blocks, slapped the ones all on your PJ's Bite your mic, tore the sole off your sneakers Staten Island Stand Up, bust guns in the bleachers |
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[Crunch Lo]
So Park Hill, West Brighton, New Brighton, the Harbor Stapleton, Port Town, forty cals and pounds We on the mound like a pitcher, dreams of getting richer Reach for the stars and found the big dipper My niggas stand up, front and get blammed up Ran a hundred deep in the club, we man up The gemstar spitter, I've never been a quitter I run real close and throw the toast to your liver A heatwave, or I give you a close shave At close range, muthafucka, playing no games We keep the metal spraying, more than Olympics Our thoroughness is vengeance, we going hard From four quarters, relentless We been this live, nigga, no monkey jive We fuck queen bees and conquer the bee hive The modern day Hannibals, thugged out animals Straight from the zoo, clear the whole block with the tech 22 |
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