| Ride, slide, dipping low
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| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes
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| Ride, slide, smoke control
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| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes
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| What you gonna do when the shit goes down?
|
| Six misfits rolling through your hometown
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| 'Cause we ride, slide, so hit the floor
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| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes
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| When the streets grow cold and my sight turns red
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| Got the pistol grip-hold and a muzzle to your head
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| Yeah, somebody talked, yeah, somebody said
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| Yeah, somebody’s buried, yeah, somebody’s dead
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| We found my White Wolf stashed in my white ball cap
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| Got your white ball jacked and my Caddy’s lab black
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| Got the gadgets all wrapped, devil hanging out the back
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| Now you’re just a story on the cemetery track
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| We lock, and we load, we rock, and we roll
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| We cock, and we go, it’s the Undead show
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| You know I mean what I say, better drop when we spray
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| It’s too late to pray on Judgment Day
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| Hear those bells? |
| It’s the end of your life
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| Someone’s gotta live and someone’s gotta die
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| Here comes hell, it’s redemption, right?
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| Now you’re just a ghost on a cold, blind night
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| Ride, slide, dipping low
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| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes
|
| Ride, slide, smoke control
|
| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes
|
| What you gonna do when the shit goes down?
|
| Six misfits rolling through your hometown
|
| 'Cause we ride, slide, so hit the floor
|
| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes
|
| Roll up in the spot like a live grenade
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| And every day we celebrate like a pimp parade
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| Swimming in liquor till the end of my days
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| Rolling with Funny Man in a cloud of haze
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| Who would’ve knew I turn the trees blue?
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| You’re sitting on the internet like «is this shit true?»
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| And I don’t give a fuck about your bad review
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| Till I pop out the screen with a big «fuck you!»
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| Then hop in the backseat and get to the blasting
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| Cut down your dreams like the Hollywood casting
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| Except this shit is real, not acting
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| We’re still murdering so thanks for asking
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| Too damn smart to get caught up in legalities
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| Blow you off-stage, just another fatality
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| And, sir, you don’t know that we lack morality?
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| «Fuck, suck, dick, lick, man, we nasty»
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| Ride, slide, dipping low
|
| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes
|
| Ride, slide, smoke control
|
| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes
|
| What you gonna do when the shit goes down?
|
| Six misfits rolling through your hometown
|
| 'Cause we ride, slide, so hit the floor
|
| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes
|
| Semi-automatic words you heard to spray the masses
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| Gas is lit, quick, spark on the matchstick
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| The class is classic, lyrical backflips
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| Got you bitches begging for the backstage passes
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| Rolling with the bosses, causing havoc
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| I’m just filling in because they’re never gonna have it
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| So sad, you sad, bitch, so glad you have this
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| Got pneumatic, emphatic Black Cadillac shit
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| Get your cardiac kit, where’s the party at, trick?
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| Watch me pull a hat trick, joint on the glass tip
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| Got the room loud in the valley
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| All eyes on me, you can call me Makaveli
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| We don’t give a fuck, we never did
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| Hit you with the thunder where you stand, that’s how we live
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| Believe me when we do it, yeah, we fucking do it big
|
| And if we show you how to win, we do it for the kids
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| Ride, slide, dipping low
|
| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes
|
| Ride, slide, smoke control
|
| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes
|
| What you gonna do when the shit goes down?
|
| Six misfits rolling through your hometown
|
| 'Cause we ride, slide, so hit the floor
|
| Black Cadillac, on them hundred spokes |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Black Cadillac , by - Hollywood Undead. Song from the album Five, in the genre