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Celly Cel - Ride lyrics
f/ C-Bo * send corrections to the typist [x 4] Eye for an eye [eye for an eye] Ride or you die [ride or you die] [Celly Cel] Won't leave the house unless I'm strapped up I might get backed up in the traffic Niggas is dumping on me when I got my zapper Creeping up on me And I got one hand on the wheel One hand on the steel Trying to break a nigga for skrill And I'm ridin' wit sharp shootin' skills Funk season, whatever the reason I'm dealing wit drama Send me one of them mangie ass niggas Runnin' home, cryin' to Mama So I kick the door to eliminate the whole situation Fuckin' wit me me will ended up Having his family eraseded Face it, no charges leaving the body behind until You better respect game Bow down when real niggas bail through yo hood But won't be caught up in a twist Flash on us unless you end up sleeping wit the fish Seamin' shoes, lady singing the blues, them sad ballads Fried chicken, collad greens, and potato salads Surrounded them by [?] of family members cryin' Eye for an eye' you ride or you die [Chorus] x 4 Eye for an eye You ride or you die ride or you die Niggas get at cha and run back at them But let them bullets fly [C-Bo] He got the Mac One-O And moved nice on the piggies Hit 'em up and buck And leave them struck when I'm tipsy Ain't no love for the true thugs That die for this shit Wit 150 round drum ride for this shit Fuck the hard hats end locs, pass the fo fo And watch me smoke them hoes Like the last hit of indo, and fo' sho I smash and blast, nigga, when I'm provoked With a doe of platinum coke I holds down a fort [Celly Cel] Why you smiling for These niggas playing games on the street That's where they meet the heat They sweep they ass up off of they feet This ain't no fairy tale You fuckin' with Cel Hit the scenes wit machines If you want my team It ain't no in between Seventeen through your temple When your crossing the realest niggas To spit this killa shit on the mic And make the world feel us Hit 'em wit rounds [?] [?] of hollows then we follow Niggas to they spine And chop they ass up Wit fully-auto's [Chorus] x 4 [C-Bo] I ain't no actor bitch My life is worser than the movies For real though, from steel toes to my uzi Pushin' Impala S.S.'s Benz, Beamers, to Lamborginis And chase my strip down wit X.O., Henn, and Remi Rolex on my wrist Hundred dollar bill's crisp I pull the blunt from my lip Then the 4-5 from my hip and spit The incredible medical or hard core The deadliest medacine gas ever set off in a war Westcoast's the spot Where we lock our million dollar doors Survival in hell, packing heat Ducking from them I'm just a thug nigga Step on your street and draw my heat And then I plug niggas I be a G from the G.B.C. That's why I mug niggas Don't flag I just sag and carry a mag And get off in the snitches asses You a bitch but still ride or die Screaming out the block Bitch I'll have you die wit doc [echoes out] [Chorus] x 4 *echoes* Bullets fly |
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