Sun Don`t Shine Lyrics

Sun Don`t Shine lyrics

[Freeway]



Yeah...for my street niggas







[Chorus - girl singing (Oschino)]



The sun never shines in the ghetto 



It always rains in the hood 



Heavy metals ring in the ghetto 



Everybody moves 'caine in the hood (everybody move them things)



This for my niggas who stay in the ghetto (to my niggas stay in the ghetto)







It's lots of shine in the ghetto



Too many haters in the hood (too hard, niggas be hatin)



Gotta watch what you doin 



The ghetto only cop black shine in the hood (Freeway, Young Gunz)



This for my niggas who thug like street lights in the ghetto (Oschino)







[Verse One: Oschino]



Yo we gotta, hollow the gat, bottle the smack



When the cops pull up we gotta swallow the crack



All my niggas did time like Geronimo Prep



See the Benz like damn, what model is that



Oschino, the nigga who was locked in a cage



Niggas clockin my style like flavor flave



Fuck gettin the Source Award, or gettin Five Mics



I'm happy just gettin my daughter a pink bike



A roof over her head and some Barbie skates



It's plenty of nights man, I hardly ate



I'm from where the summers dangerous, the winters is cold



And bitches pop Van X's like birth control



I got bitches on death row, stuck with a cell number



So close to Jesus they got his cell number



The ghetto is trife, this is my life



How many rappers you know been down for murder twice?







[Verse Two: Neef]



Yo what up wit ch'all niggas



What it look like?



Throw it in the pot, see if the shit cook right



We can get it down, see if it bubble white or brown



Take it to the town and break my youngin's down



It's doin good, business is lookin fine



Get 'em for 20, but maybe 29



Youngin out on his grind, youngin poppin 'em nine's



I'm a juvenile delinquent, youngin was doin time



Cause Judge Reynold's left it up to my mom (what else?)



And I was thinkin like, damn ain't that crazy?



But mom duke's can't live without her baaaby



I'm back home, thrity eight strong, out on my own



Thinkin, get it wit chrome



Fuck makin them songs, but my mind right now



And this rap shit be my grind right now (now...now...)







[Chorus - girl singing]



The sun never shines in the ghetto 



It always rains in the hood 



Heavy metals ring in the ghetto 



Everybody moves Cain in the hood



This for my niggas who stay in the ghetto







It's lots of shine in the ghetto



Too many haters in the hood



Gotta watch what you doin



The ghetto only cop black shine in the hood



This for my niggas who thug like street lights in the ghetto







[Verse Three: Young Chris]



You wanna shit on? I'm on your boy like the narc's on 'em



You ever heard a nigga's lawyer scared to talk for him?



Creep in the dark on him, the led bark on him



I'm on his head til the Fed's spread chalk for him



That's how we do it dawg, these the last days



Yeah I had my bad days, I been through it ch'all



But I grew back (grew back)



Got my groove back (groove back)



That's how we do in trainin, cockin them two's back



Same dudes namin', givin up news



Gettin up on the stand, endin up on the news



It's fucked up what that pressure'll do



And you don't wanna fuck up when they questionin you



Lecturin you, tryin to get shit up outta you



Crucial beatdowns til the bitch come up outta you



Cris come up outta you, dough that ain't right to do



Put that dough and get your body viewed







[Verse Four: Freeway]



Let me get five for twenty, or seven for thrity



That shit that you hear in the ghetto



They don't care in the hood



Cop four twenties and seven thirties



Then niggas disappear from the ghetto



Get snatched from the hood



Feds grab 'em, and some get put in the dirt



Some live in grime, good with the work



Stick up kids get hit with the nine



But the funeral parlor good with embalming fluid



Good with the hearst



Some niggas don't even grind



But still make a stack every other night, good with the dice



So it don't even matter, get hungry in the hood



Miss Low is sharp with the platters, good with the rice



And her daughter's just like her



Shootouts, they stash my guns, and I got away good with the knifes



The end of the nights, stash my ones



Cause I'm good with the rocks, the smokers good with pipes







[Chorus]