Edge Songtext
von Shyne

Ayo, MAC-10s and fake friends
Lawyers litigating homicide
25, What the fuck a nigga facing?
But I′m still trill, still holding

Rolling gully 'til I′m frozen
Closed in a box with embalming fluid

Veins pumping ice

First and 15, keep that cane pumping right
Hard white, cold cash
Hold fast, roll fast through the city, soak gas
No ash, straight head, bitch, I'm running from the feds

Fuck comma, rap Sam G and Connor


All I got in this world is my fifth dick and honor
Gangsta mannerism, lyrical vandalism
Niggas be burning up they guns until them fucking hammers hit 'em
Huh, we need help
And until then, I′ma take that MAC off the shelf
And hold these fucking streets hostage
Blowing smoke out my nostrils
Every breath is a step to an untimely death

I wanna know where to go
Need a place in my mind I can rest
′Cause it's time running out for my flesh
Dried up, sitting in a chair, fried up
I wanna know where to go
Need a place in my mind I can rest
′Cause it's time running out for my flesh
Dried up, sitting in a chair, fried up

You know me, I don′t need no introduction to this
Big gun, big dick, half a mil' on the wrist
Sitting in my Continental, thinking ′bout potential connects
I live it all, just pencil the best
Parts of the life of a quintessential hustler
When I pull a slide back, motherfuckers be hoping
Their faces don't get left open, you understand?

Shirts soaking, brains smoking, left in the ocean floating
Shine, pole, dough, stack


Y'all rap niggas is trash
I don′t give a fuck how much records you sold trying to be me
Keep it real, dog, you dying to be me
You wanna know how it feel, don′t you?
To have a murder charge
Tote guns at American Music Awards
And live life against odds
Doing 170 screaming, "Fuck the world!"
Gangsta without a cause

I wanna know where to go
Need a place in my mind I can rest
'Cause it′s time running out for my flesh
Dried up, sitting in a chair, fried up
I wanna know where to go
Need a place in my mind I can rest
'Cause it′s time running out for my flesh
Dried up, sitting in a chair, fried up

Where the fuck them niggas at? We gon' handle this beef
Turn your mic off, bitch, see me in the streets
Fuck peace ′til I'm resting in it
Dried up flesh is finished
I don't know how to chill ′til I′m in a morgue
Dysfunctional, highly uncomfortable, paranoid
Without an extra clip, bitch, try me, I'll puncture you
Bad niggas waking up with wings on they backs

Halos on they head like, "Yo, I′m dead"

Cannonite, fucking Princess Diana types
In Vanna Whites, Havana like tan
I write cold, hand the ice
This shit too much for the mortal mind to comprehend
Walk with me, pause, take a breath (Let's go)
Things just ain′t the same for gangstas
Secret indictments fucking up the game for gangstas
Bots charges, trying to reign a gangsta
Through it all, I maintain my gangsta

I need to know where to go
Need a place in my mind I can rest
'Cause it′s time running out for my flesh
Dried up, sitting in a chair, fried up

I need to know where to go
Need a place in my mind I can rest
'Cause it's time running out for my flesh
Dried up, sitting in a chair, fried up

I need to know where to go
Need a place in my mind I can rest
′Cause it′s time running out for my flesh
Dried up, sitting in a chair, fried up

I need to know where to go
Need a place in my mind I can rest
'Cause it′s time running out for my flesh
Dried up, sitting in a chair, fried up

I need to know where to go
Need a place in my mind I can rest
'Cause it′s time running out for my flesh
Dried up, sitting in a chair, fried up