|
Yo, feelin' easy like it's |
|
Sunday mornin', steak an' eggs |
|
Hey, livin' off some big rims, lookin' like some blades |
|
Play her like a pimp typa nigga, ain't me |
|
With the tint 35 percent so ya can't see |
|
Fish scales shotgun, pass the |
|
L to big V |
|
Flip Flop candy, lookin' so wet it drip drop |
|
From the tip top, chrome double duce |
|
Make a bitch stop, jaw drop ballin' off this hip hop |
|
On a budget back an' forth from |
|
KentuckyWe them type of niggas that crack corn in a bucket |
|
A hundred an' ninety spoke, goddamn |
|
Look but don't touch it ,we comin' down |
|
I-65, Nappy an' company |
|
Vertical grills on the |
|
Cadillac, we so real |
|
Skinny Deville, return like a bat out of |
|
HellHell, don't ya think |
|
Nappy Roots comin' as well |
|
Big V, B. |
|
Stille, Prophet, |
|
Clutch an' |
|
Fish Scales, yeah |
|
My ride be sittin' on the hundred spokes |
|
My candy paint straight from the honeycomb |
|
Wood grain interior leather an' chrome |
|
Everybody ride out, it's on, it's on |
|
Hey, yo, that's my cab, jumped out leavin' a tab |
|
Hold on man, we'll discuss that later |
|
B. jumped out like, "**** that hater" |
|
Fell in the |
|
Aspen, rotten like |
|
MartinTwo white dudes, one looked like |
|
Matt Harprin |
|
Later on he's eatin' an' ball in |
|
CleavlandAn' |
|
I jumped out like, "**** your season" |
|
Van Dam woke up in the grand am |
|
Real hot, no air for the car jam |
|
Twenty inches ride both on probes |
|
Look nice |
|
Chevrolet on pipes |
|
Keep Chevy tint that twinkle so bright |
|
B.O.B, I'ma ball on budget |
|
Pumped out two, thou on the '89 cutlass, bitch |
|
Nah, you can't ride, |
|
I'm selfish |
|
Ain't too many ho's wanna touch this velvet |
|
My ride be sittin' on the hundred spokes |
|
My candy paint straight from the honeycomb |
|
Wood grain interior leather an' chrome |
|
Everybody ride out, it's on, it's on |
|
Hop in with me, we 'bout to leave |
|
You gotta pop it, |
|
I drope a dollar in ya pocket |
|
Gas up the crotch, rocket pass up, the cops blocked it |
|
Hey B. Stille, can |
|
I role with you an' |
|
Prophet?Extra clean you can't tell me nean |
|
Drop the top, showin' off for the summa' |
|
Cause the |
|
Cadillac stretch on dem bow legged stillets |
|
Where the candy paint sets like a wet cigarette |
|
Bubble coat primers, chrome spiders inside us |
|
Big enough for my team an' a couple of trainers |
|
But it hold no minors, that's major |
|
Wood grain an' ya get deep beater's big features |
|
Feel boom from the beats in my big speakers |
|
It's on in my seats an' my signature |
|
Don't throw dirt on my name, no shirt as |
|
I leanOut the window pane, you hear the country boy sang |
|
My ride be sittin' on the hundred spokes |
|
My candy paint straight from the honeycomb |
|
Wood grain interior leather an' chrome |
|
Everybody ride out, it's on, it's on |