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I'm Back It's Great

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

(Feat. Lex)

(Intro: Shyheim)
Yeah, Shyheim, nigga a/k/a S.I.
A/k/a Jonathan Jackson the Manchild, you hear me
Got my nigga, Lex, yeah, Jersey, Staten Island
Bottom Up, Brock Bros., Stapleton, what up

I got S.I. on my back and I'm swimmin', 9000 miles back home
My whole hood, happy, I'm back home
I'm the backbone, black stone, Greatest Story Never Told
Came to the wilderness of North America, alone
Stompin' like a giant, on my corner, mash potato Timb's
Containin' more fucked iodine, vitamins
I'm grindin', puttin' it in, from the Bottom Up
And I don't rock watches or bracelets, 'cause they remind me of handcuffs
Niggaz woke up a sleeping dragon, you hear that fire coming out my mouth
You better call the red and white wagons
And while you at it, tell 'em don't forget that leak water
I be so wet whoadee, I can dry water, and for all y'all
Niggaz out there, thinkin' y'all tough
Real gangstas, like myself'll make y'all buckle like the end of a belt
My handle's critically acclaimed, locked down the game
With a one and two side, amex in the main

(Chorus x2: Shyheim (Lex))
I'm back (Yeah, Shy, see you hear, never left
But you back in the hood, so tell me what's really good)
It's great (See, niggaz thought it wouldn't happen
Picture the kid rapping, yes, niggaz he's back in)

'Cause it's back, this young dude from the Bricks, homey
Became immune to the strip, carry two's, put shoes on the whip
And I move with the fifth, on me, in case dudes wanna flip
I leave 'em leakin', droolin' in shit
But I can't stop, my block needs me, but just remember
That bustin' these shots, and duckin' these cops, is not easy
I'm down for whatever, I stand on the pavement, I'm trynna
Round up this cheddar, I need a vacation
I'm so stressed and my girl don't help, she can't understand
Why I'm so stressed and why I worry myself
And it's really starting to bother a nigga
So with this weight laws, I'm startin' to shake off, pardon a nigga
Balls, I got paper, but I'm far from a million
That's why I'm, still in these streets, I hustle hard in these buildings
Yeah, they say it's wrong, that these crackheads need me
But I can't, leave it alone, 'cause crackheads feed me
Ricky, Shawn, Daneen and Barbara, Phylis and Ursula
Got so much, that I'm needing a worker
Show 'em how to move, and gets moved with a slot game
But only talk samples, when the color of your top change

I got a call from Bobby Digital, he said it's critical
For me to record a new album, I said aight, no interviews
I refuse to talk to any reporters or disc jockeys
This is for the people, so I got a right to be coky
I'm the one and only, the only one chosen
I preserve my microphone in, by keeping it frozen
As a child, I said realer shit than most of you grown men
I'm certified, ultra live, the ghetto says so
Play my tape, even the roaches gon' come chill in your radio
I'm ruthless, but wont day real easy, got whole hoods
Wearin' mechanic suits, I do dudes so greasy
I'm a hoodlum, till they turn out my lights, and give me a quarter
I still have more girlfriends, than Diana Ross daughter
It's a manslaughter...

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