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