Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ride Till We Die, artist - WC. Album song Enemy of the State, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 14.03.2000
Record label: Warlock
Song language: English
Ride Till We Die |
| And we be blastin, smashin for the loot |
| I, empty my strap and then I dash to my Coupe |
| Ain’t no half-steppin, it’s West Coast til I die |
| Keepin the bundle and never fumble my 4−5 |
| With only one life to live, nigga we’re still ridin |
| We attack and murder and watch the scrilla multiply |
| Fuck the funkity-five, big business and expeditions |
| If I die when I ride, don’t leave shit to them bitches |
| I raise my right hand with a Tek and my left I swear I’ll ride |
| Til my death or touch collide, til my judgment, til I rest |
| I’ll be that gun smooth assassin, run with trues for blastin |
| Snatchin up money bags in organised crime fashion |
| Mafioso’s mashin, the homicides is askin: |
| «Who did thew blastin? |
| Was is it the Mob Figgas mashin?» |
| Ridin with no maskets, jobs can’t be soppy |
| Grippin the bail with the doves to bust you with my tongue |
| Now I’m a savage young nigga witta chopper |
| Motivated by Mob-type tactics, I’ll blow your block up |
| ??? |
| sip to Cosby, out the game everytime |
| Me and the Mob Figgas’ll do the dirt and choke the 9's straight |
| Savage’s up on the crime, but a cross and dwelling lavishly |
| Fuck some animosity but I might just cause a casualty |
| Cos Boo the Hustler and Bo-Loc'll show ya, smell the aroma |
| We gon' ride til we die, ain’t no glory in lettin it slide |
| For all you punks that never heard of these |
| And all you buster motherfuckers that wanna murder, these niggas |
| We ridin til we die |
| Ain’t lettin shit slide, dumpin 4−5's, ridin til we die |
| ??? |
| ??? |
| California, I’m best ta warn ya you’ll end up like Freddy |
| Fuckin with my 'fetti, we mobbin three-deep in Chevy |
| AP-9, Bo and I rider, we pull licks |
| On a bitch, haven’t you heard, we gets perved and hit the strip |
| Pitch black tint, ain’t takin no mo' shit |
| Gotta get these niggas with my chop and hit the block and suit their knots |
| And leave their whole block chalked up, got closed off of 4−54's |
| They hit the block and then I got gone |
| I’m never gang-related but dedicated to my niggas |
| My niggas be killers, drug-dealers and ho killers |
| Mackers in jackets, po' pimps, 9 packers |
| Got these ballers in *?scallers?*, livin lawless, my niggas' flawless |
| Niggas with knowledge represent in grounds of college |
| White Acura coupes, pimpin hoes and stackin loot |
| How much scrilla can I hustle up? |
| Foldin my figures |
| Dottin my decimals with commas behind my O’s, so… |
| You see gangs never work out the way I planned |
| Cos I hustle all night, black eyes from gang fights |
| A mad nigga’s drama and addicted to street life |
| I sold this paradise, sippin this game and pay the price |
| I watch the sun glisten off this ice, caught you slippin |
| Uzi, Mac and a jacker, young thief in the night |
| Dangerous minds still lookin for a sign to reclude |
| As to what the fuck I’m pissed to do |
| If this rap game don’t ??? |
| for me, life might as well stop for me |
| Give in to failin from 2−11's so niggas call me *?Jagger?* |
| Ridin til I die on you bastards |
| We ridin practice on swell, pushin luxury with no els |
| Floss je-wels, Professional Baller, all about the dollars |
| And when you holler, we hit like pits, attackin collars |
| Ridin with the 4−5, I’m shady and connivin |
| Choose dyin before I be a punk to this shit |
| Dump when you funk when you with the clip cos if you slide, then you slip |
| Hollow tips rip chests, til confetti turn branch to spaghetti |
| Smash off like Andretti, are you ready? |
| It ain’t no runnin in a war, we’re hardcore |
| Steadily toe-taggin bodies, yeah, we’re dyin some mo' |
| No respect to dump Tek’s, smashin in Apollo Supersports |
| Cashin em out dollar stretch from Cali to New York |
| On a mission from mail, court and million dollar bails |
| Diamond je-wels, pushin 500 SL’s |
| I’m just a born killer, cap peeler for my scrilla |
| Forever ride, nigga, until I get a hundred milla’s |
| I’m ready to ride so slide, so need the pistol |
| Launch em like missiles as they shatter like crystals |
| I heard Bo whistle, it’s time to move out |
| This mo' clear, we disappear and punch the big shootouts |
| Another slaughter, you’re block was blown clear out the water |
| I land in your soldiers like dickin your daughter |
| Don’t bother beggin me for no forgiveness |
| I’m in this to win this and takin care of business |
| A witness to these murderous conspiracies |
| Will be found, dead to the ground and chopped with Glocks on both their |
| Knees |
| So please don’t sweat the technique, it’s the way I was trained |
| Murder men dictatin minds like Hitler dumpin Hussein |
| I bring the pain, til I will remain the top ace |
| Make you kiss my pinky ring then smack him dead in his face |
| Cos I’m a RIDEAH…(and we’ll just slide up and dump) |