Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ride on our Enemies (S.L.A.B.ed), artist - Trae Tha Truth. Album song Slow, Loud and Bangin', Vol. 4, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 17.01.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Grand hustle, Trae Tha Truth
Song language: English
Ride on our Enemies (S.L.A.B.ed) |
Taking over this shit nigga |
The war has now begun |
Jump in front of the gun if you wanna |
You gon be a motherfucking goner |
Watch out for this blue and gray |
Cause we gon make way |
I put this on the West nigga |
S.L.A.B. |
gon be on top of this shit here |
I know you niggas in the game, finna feel me |
I’m never gon shut up, until a nigga kill me |
And I feel like I’m headed, to the Penitentiary |
Cause this is the part, when we ride on our enemies |
I spit slow, so these snitch niggas can know who I be |
Z-Ro the Crooked, I’ve infected more people than H.I.V |
Say hello and say la-vi with it, it don’t matter to me |
My motherfucking family, S-L-A-B in back of me |
Tragedies often is prevented, but when the windows be this tinted |
It’ll be a drive by, chastising niggas spirits as I slide by |
Don’t ever in your life, try to challenge my mind’s eye |
Fuck around and make me, make these motherfuckers die |
So listen to the sound of Fraiser, releasing his anger |
Listen to the sound of Douglas, with one in the chamber |
Listen to the sound of me, spilling my hate with this Mack |
And I can’t stop, until I see my nigga Joseph with stacks |
Pants sagging, cause I got my pistol in my pocket |
And it ain’t nothing to cock it, throw a search party for your wig and rock it |
Head busting, Z-Ro standing over your bed dumping |
Be gone before the FED’s running, real life head humming |
You ever see a guerilla, with his hands quicker |
Cause Trae been clicking on fake niggas, just like that bitch nigga |
We realer, we them niggas that be Maabing on bitches |
Cause all that pistol play capping, finna to get you put up with stitches |
I heard that controversy sells, but down South it’ll get you hurt |
And if you in it get fucked over, I’m about to raise up your skirt |
It ain’t no need to take it back, not when they slug’s been shot |
I’m fresh off the block I’m hot, and you about to get dropped |
I’m feeling like Pac, so now I gotta ride on you cats |
And all of my enemies better move, before they get put on they back |
A soldier bout to attack, if you want me let’s get it cracking |
That’s going for any one of you niggas, thinking we rapping |
On down to friends and foes, you niggas gotta go |
Then again I ain’t got no friends, cause most of 'em turned to hoes |
And to the niggas, that love to put a slug under they breath |
I’ma lean on a nigga, and bring that bitch out of they chest |
I’m a soldier, 4−5 strapped in the holster |
Shells popping out, like a motherfucking toaster |
Archie Lee the hood legend, I rep’s my block |
I hit your spot, pull out connect my knots |
I got a gun fetish nigga, with techs and Glocks |
So many infrared beams, it’s like connect the dots |
I wish you would, try some hoe shit in the hood |
Be the nigga with a bat, till I split the wood |
Now they say Hitman, is darraigned in his mind |
I’m just a hard head nigga, throwing up gang signs |
Back in the days man, I use to slang dimes |
Now I floss fo' dot, sixes with mine |
And I never turn my back, on my niggas |
Hard heads till I die, representing mob figgas |
Mafia Joe Boy, my nigga Dee-Da-Wee |
Agg and C, can’t forget Knock and QB holla |
I’m throwed in the mind, and I’m whacking 'em off |
Keep my pistol cocked by my side, ready to fire it off |
Dropping bombs on you son of a bitches, like my name Sadaam |
Motherfucker fin know when I make it rain, look bitch it pours |
When you feel that you ready, bring it steady and heavy |
Motherfuckers gon have to kill me, before I’m gon let 'em |
Take me out for my money, bitch you trying my patience |
Trying to violate me, my nine’ll start penetrating faces |
Penitentiary chances, looking over my shoulder |
In the kitchen burning down bricks, hot over the stover |
Since I’m constantly rising, how in the fuck can I fall |
Motherfuckers playing with fire, I’m burning 'em all |
I’m going get ammunition, for niggas with competition |
So pay attention and listen, I’m busting at Expeditions |
Wishing for any hater-ation, my beam is what you facing |
Bust with no hesitation, at niggas that’s imitation |
Ain’t no procrastination, I’m quick to bust heads |
Lil B is leaving these tweety bird, niggas for dead |
Bust at my enemies, these niggas not kin to me |
Not even a friend to me, using my clip until it’s empty |
Cause I’m a gangsta, you wanksta fuck around and shank you |
I think you better move around, 'fore I treat you like a child and spank you |
Drop you pop you, with nothing but automatics of weapons |
When I start to let loose, boys be praying for protection |
Get 'em up get 'em up, early in the morning |
Crack of dawn and, I drunk a eight and I ain’t yawning |
Nigga be thinking they gon catch me sleeping, but they not |
So I keep a couple of Glocks, these boys need to stop |
Giving niggas head shots, and rocking they body |
And once you make us mad, it ain’t no stopping nobody |
Everybody got shotty, Guerilla Maab the mob nigga some hard head niggas |
They gon kill us or feel us, so this how C do it |
(what) Uh-huh, fuck 97−9 |
They ain’t gotta play my shit one time, and I’ma shine |
We started off underground, we’ll take it back underground |
And take everything over, we got 'em loving our sound |
I’m with that Lil C, from the C-R's Hogg |
C ease up, niggas is all on our nuts |
Bandanas in the wrong pocket, so I’m all in they guts |
With a shank or a knife, cause I don’t need a gun |
I tear a nigga’s ass up, so I don’t need to run |
Five deuce out of the C-side, I’ll show you how a G ride |
You can’t stand this jeep ride, cause you ain’t even see live |
Falsified nigga, with a flag and some Chucks |
I grab the pistol grip pump, make it dump when I bust |
I hopped it and pancaked it, and hopped out mean mugging |
Walking up close, I hope you peeping this beam cuzin |
I blew his head in his lap, thanks to the Mack |
That I got from the Lac, put it to his head and opened it back |
Checking his pockets and hope for a stack, and hope to get back |
To the Lac and hope to get back down the streets, I’m back to the shack |