| 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… » |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Streets , by - Layzie Bone. Song from the album The New Revolution, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп