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160.15

This song is by Shyheim and appears on the album The Greatest Story Never Told (2004).

(Feat. Bee-Gee)

(Intro: Shyheim)
Mm... Bottom Up, yo!

(Shyheim)
Y'all can't fuck with me, or my fuckin' team
What the fuck y'all mean? Fuck Shyheim
Like catchin' bodies ain't me, like armed robberies
160.15, ain't my steeze
I'm big dick Hercules, I'm from wildin' wildin' Staten Island
Where the little homies, murked the D's
We 'bout it 'bout it, you can see C-Murder in our eyes 4/5/6 on my dots
It was my finger that pulled the trigger, when he died
Tell the creator, I said I'll check him later
I done got it, all upstairs, that's why my peers call me elevator
Me and bonifide gangstas, roll like skaters in Empire
Kanye West rap niggaz, have 'em spittin' through the wire
You biters, I'm gasoline, if it wasn't for me
Y'all wouldn't be fire, I got the industry tied up
Held for ransom, pretty bitches tell me calm down handsome
I just give them a stupid look without answerin'

(Chorus: Bee-Gee)
Since the first time that I stepped through the door
And lettin' y'all niggaz know, that I will bring the noise
Move with some round niggaz, that'll bang the toys
Gettin' it all and poppin', in the streets, for sure ooww
But since y'all niggaz wanna hate, violate
Unless you see how it is, messin' with the great
Pull my thing out, no safety on it, aimed at the target
Squeeze off, let them shots rip your flesh apart, sure

(Shyheim)
I'm from S.I., used to rock Wu-Wear
Before my nigga Rasheem got murdered, I could say I used to care
But now I don't, fuck around and hang myself
If you give me, a long enough rope, I'm stupid like that
Ask my nigga Homi', I pack bigger mac's than McDonald's
Bang harder, than African booties, scratchers on bongo's
And y'all don't pop, won't pop, I been in dope spots
When the police raided, back when my hair was braided
Back in the days on Halloween, we went eggin'
I used my building taggin' manhunt, skills for slayings
What you say is not irrelevant, you gonna need some good luck
So cop two elephants, I'm hell of bit, in the precinct
Bitin' the skin off my fingers, to disguise my prints
And they still came back, go home, like Ma, it's a real wrap
Man listen, I'm not going going, back, back, to priz-oh

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