Shyne - Bury Judas (Game Diss) lyrics

[Verse 1: Shyne] This little buster name the Game wanna rhyme like Po Cuz I rhyme like gold I rhyme like, I be climbin' out that Rolls The nine I let it blow, put 5 up in ya clothes Head shots leave you slumped, reclinin' through ya door Oh'- this is blasphemy Ya whole entire career patterned after me I got shooters out in Cali that will blast for me Your forgot, I put your chest where your back should be Tec squeeze off rapid speed I'm in Paris at the Plaza, blood, ask for me Ungrateful ba*tard, say your grace after meal Bow down pay homage and ask to breathe ? Shyne, Michael, or Moses, homicidal motives Thinkin' this is showbiz, I will put you with the blowfish Hand on my toasters, Lamborghini roadsters Gave these rappers life but I turn them into ghosts [Hook] I think I'm Big Wolf, Young RZA Clay Bone, squeezing triggers Gangland, we the mob Shyne M-F Po, rap god I think I'm Big Wolf, Young RZA Big U, squeezing triggers Gangland, we the mob Shyne M-F Po, rap god [Verse 2: Shyne] Smoking the Cuban, twisting on my sidelocks This sideway representer with them sideshots 9 shots from that 6 or 9 Glock My alibi done bought it sunny at the sky box Fraud dudes, must be on that dog food Ain't nothing change Gangland still mob rules Still flexing, still netting off that god j** Send you straight to the mob, ain't no law suit Ehh my little Apostles gospel, new gold flow Blew breath into your nostrils, homie god knows I'm the Adam that you bow to, realest alive Ya red flag is a costume, this mobster's Jewish The talk is useless,morning blast but you In the bask with embalming fluid, I bomb The rugis, dump you in the pond you sewage I think im Big Wolf, I ain't suing Yeaaa, get what you came for, big bad blood eh What you scared for? I shoot the bu*terfly off your face And tell Jesus Piece, smile at your wake, Yeaaa I'm your faith you pray to Shyne when you say your rhymes I'm the great mob ties state of mind empire state Bow down say your grace [Hook] [Verse 3: Shyne] Act like broade and I'mma act like god and take your life I clap that, black mag off, see these rats rap hard Till I pap pap ya'll, broad day bullets blow your snap back off See I trapped that, hard that, smacked that raw I ain't proud to talk about the facts, as all In that black back, call that black rap ma Mf po shyne, black rap god, I'm Milton Bradley I made the game, I gave em fame, but I an't perfect I made mistakes ,I made a lame, what's up blood Yous a little dummy, my cheerleader, now you flip flopping Like you run me, you know you love me, rapping like you was me Deported from the country, now your memory got fuzzy but I'mma take you back I'm New York like Bumpy, California like Bungee Carter im a marter, Jewish mobster like Bugsy, seagull dessert eagle Myalinsky like lucky, clap you, clap Puffy, feds can't touch me Shot's are so deadly, Shyne M-F Po, oh so godly