Young Chris Oschino Freeway Neef - 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

F*ck 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

F*ck 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 f*cked up what that pressure'll do

And you don't wanna f*ck 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]