Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song How We Ride, artist - Mannie Fresh. Date of issue: 31.12.2003
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
How We Ride |
| Yeah |
| Ya drive a Chevy now |
| Yeah, I’m ready now |
| The car’s stolen baby |
| But I’m rollin baby |
| Cadillacs to Cutlass |
| Regals, Pontiacs and Chevrolets |
| We ride, we ride Chevrolets ('let's) |
| Chevrolets ('let's), Chevrolets ('let's) |
| Cadillacs to Cutlass |
| Regals, Pontiacs and Chevrolets |
| We ride, we ride Chevrolets ('let's) |
| Chevrolets ('let's), Chevrolets ('let's) |
| I got a big '67 'Lac Coupe DeVille |
| Mississippi on the tag, man that wood on the wheel |
| That motherfucka change colors like a lizard and shit |
| 55 ridin south, gettin head from a bitch |
| Matter fact, yo bitch, nigga love it and check it |
| She like leather to the ass, so I love to ride naked |
| Right, bang her in the pussy, baby how that feel? |
| Left hand, swangin free, grippin wood on the wheel |
| Then I smack her on the ass man, and jump in the Regal |
| I got some hoes 'cross the river, all up in west, wiggle |
| Ready to twurk, pop it sick somethin, do it for daddy |
| I get back, later on ya bitch is washin my Caddy |
| Spit-shine, waxed up, Armor-All on the tire |
| Ran the hoes down the throat, cause that mouth so fire |
| That’s where a nigga ride, in the south |
| You taste a nigga dick, every time you shove ya tongue in her mouth |
| Ya weak bitch! |
| Say man, I’m in the deuce, in the quarter |
| Fuck with juice, smoke, and water |
| Actin bad with’cha daughter |
| Like a real nigga ought’a |
| What her-what her momma taught her |
| Keep ya boys toes curled up |
| But man she be-man she be fuckin ya boy world up |
| I’m thowed in the streets |
| I’m thow-thowed in the game |
| I rock-rock bizintine |
| Stay blow-blowed in the brain |
| I’m grippin-grippin on the grain |
| Like a real south-sider |
| I bounce and swang-bounce and swang down on them spiders |
| Partna you think you know, but playa you mistakin |
| You knew ya seen-knew ya seen the candy paint cakin |
| Bump back-bump back and recline, trunk-trunk open wide |
| Woofer-woofer beat’cha dome, it’s a-it's about to go |
| Chrys’a-Chrys' about to po' |
| You know we-know we got the g’s |
| Real-real «Big Tymers», all a-all about the cheese |
| So gon-gon' show ya tattoos, and ya gold tooth |
| We screamin-screamin «Free Pimp C», and flaggin out the roof baby |
| Four-fifty-four (Big-block, red stripes-stripes) |
| Comin through this bitch with them loud ass pipes-pipes |
| (Any nigga wanna come and get it) Please-please |
| Breeze by yo ass, with the motherfuckin ease |
| In the middle of the dark and Interstate sparkin |
| Call-induction opened up, carbuerator barkin |
| Pass by the crowd, music real loud |
| (Every-every thang in my cd-changer for the sound) |
| Then I do it real good, diamonds on the wood |
| Oh pissy-ass, sissy-ass lame wish he could |
| Ride like that, «Diamond in the Back» |
| Moon-roof top, Brougham Cadillac |
| Then I pass in my Cut' dawg, screamin out (Fuck y’all) |
| Roll down the window, hey! |
| Let a pimp pluck off |
| Acious Clacious Clay has returned |
| In a Super-Sport Chevy with' a ultra-perm, woo! |