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Chris Young - Sun Don't Shine - lyrics


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]   
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