Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Just Riden, artist - Bizzy Bone. Date of issue: 22.10.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Just Riden |
| Ridin the city streets in a black Benz, Lexus |
| I’m just ridin, ridin — I’m feelin you, you feelin me |
| Ain’t nobody judge me (just, just, just) |
| I’m just ridin, ridin, ridin the city streets |
| In a black Benz, Lexus or hoopty feelin the beat |
| Tuckin the piece, I’m just slidin slidin |
| Feelin my heat, I’m feelin you, you feelin me |
| We’re nothin but crumbs, crumbs, we’re nothin but crumbs |
| We’re nothin but crumbs, crumbs, we’re nothin but crumbs |
| See it’s the thug, thuggish ruggish, give me some bud |
| I’m out on the way to go get me some love |
| Stuck in the part where I put up the cup, don’t |
| What about the slopes, tryin to get dangerous |
| We’re nothin but crumbs, they gave me the tomb |
| And heavenly Father all over your son |
| The people are part of ya, never be found |
| But what was it for, tellin my people |
| To point to the guns and put up the funds |
| Finally see who really be ridin, look at the war and here we come |
| I’m the beginning and the ending, what are we spending, watch your paper |
| Gospel gangstas walkin in churches |
| Don’t search us, they tyrin to escape the |
| Monotony and the monopoly, gotta get ready to put us in jail |
| Rot there, get in the car, «Days of our Lives» oh well |
| I’m from the best, the sick of the best |
| The sicker the test, won’t settle for less |
| So Bizzy the Kid, king of Midwest |
| Let me get this that we feelin depressed |
| How many times we gather our rest |
| So why do they cuss, my lips are cleft |
| Lord knows I’m not ugly — Heavenly Father you are the best |
| And how many times we gather our rest |
| So why do they cuss, my lips are cleft |
| The Lord knows I’m not ugly, Heavenly Father you are the best |
| One time |
| I’m feelin you, you feelin me |
| Ain’t nobody judge me (just, I’m just) |
| I’m a rise to the fullest, make 'em do it, make 'em pull it |
| Fill your torsos up with bullets, nigga this the true shit |
| And it sits with a new kid; |
| who goes there, I |
| We used to slam them do’s, now we raise 'em up high |
| Lamborghini do’s to the sky, my nigga |
| I be flossin on 'em dawg, I ain’t shy my nigga |
| No wonder why nigga, I’m a hard workin horse |
| Keep my Grammy on a mantle, f*ck puttin it in The Source |
| If rap was a bitch I’ll want a divorce |
| And if rap was a study you would need you a course |
| I’m a rap 'til my voice gone, probably 'til I lose it |
| But y’all can’t do it, duplicate my music |
| Listen 'til they cruisin, haters be refusin |
| They bitches wanna listen to it but they gotta be true with it |
| Get bucked, knuckle up, act a fool with it |
| It’s rider season, there really ain’t no rules to it |
| Nice and smooth pimp fluid, I’m the ace |
| Realest rapper since 'Pac, wanna take my place? |
| Nobody’s just… |
| I’m just ridin, ridin, ridin the city streets |
| Packin the strap in the back of my black khakis that’s creased |
| Windows down, system on blast, feelin the breeze |
| Smokin and chokin that reefer dawg, I’m needin my trees (haha, ha) |
| Windows down, system on blast, feelin the breeze |
| Eyes on my rearview, watch my back for the police |
| The homies say watch my back for enemies |
| Touch your back, the Hennessy stay and scratch my remedy |
| Catch me dippin through the streets, givin a f*ck, runnin them stoplights |
| Swerve it to the left, and I swing it to the right |
| I’m a hard switchin lane, scrapin bumpers and all |
| All eyes on me whenever I’m rotatin white walls |
| And as soon as night falls, I let them hundred spokes crawl |
| Straight dippin through the city with my riders and dogs |
| It’s Mr. Criminal puttin it down with the homies from Bone Thugs |
| And these haters get flossed on, these bitches get no love |
| Nobody’s just… |
| «Crime Lab Productions… » |