Rollin` lyrics

Artist  : Redman 
Song : Rollin`



 Send "Rollin`" Ringtone to your Cell 

 

Nineteen ninety mother fuckin six
That's that
shit though
Get the motherfuckin Squad
packed
We got to pull these shoes out like
carpet, word is bond
Test the crew with the
guns and let's get this shit on

Why, must
I be like that? Why, must I pack the gat?
On
my left, niggaz be rollin with the
ruckus
Ready to get deep bust rounds upon some
suckaz
Heard PPP and LOD is a bunch of crazy
motherfuckers
Journey to the land is on
The
winner of the spittin bomb marathon
The fuck
you up lyrathon, whatever you choose
prepare
to lose that title
Turnin vital situations
suicidal, my idols, is my Uncles
who started
smokin weed outta bibles
Gave me a puff when I
bust my first rifle
Men-estration cycles, I
give bitches
Bring your craziest nigga, I'll
give stitches
Whateva, go crew for crew, blow
for blow
Bang your headpiece and sniff the
snow off your hoe
I keep it
rollin...

Ask yourself man
How ugly do
you have to be to be a hardcore MC?
Niggaz be
fooled by my plaques and my light skin
complexture
My whole texture is bombin,
destroyin da schools of the wack
From the Land
of the Lost, you get tossed
Listen to my
veloc(ity), my crew's comin off
Yeah, more
sneaky than casino switches
Diggin ditches for
all Moskino bitches
Clockin decimal figures,
I'm gettin out diggers
Now my choice of truck
is a Land
cause a Landcruise much bigger
It
pack two to three more niggaz
Damn I hate a
golddigger
Yeah, gimme that microphone
I
make opponents shit bricks like Tyson's home
I
keep the jacked cellular phone blown in three
zones
Love seafood and keep my nine millimis
chrome
So it can shine up your dome
When I
proceed to give you what you need and clear spots
like Sea Breeze
Wreckin your ass armaggedeon
style
Twenty four seven while
My crew chin
check your profile
(Rollin...)

I'm the
master of disaster, super rhyme maker
Grimy by
nature, database maker
Play em out like Sega,
Saturn
Blow your blocks in patterns for about
nine acres
Testes, crew wearin bulletproof and
double S's
Karl Kani down, camoflouge can't
hide the sounds
of a fo' pound
(boo-yaa)
Givin you Six Flags, bustin merry go
rounds
But my crew stay ill with that unreal
appeal
I be the raw water, my cheek bones
outta have gills
below like the
opera
Smooth on the trigger for all you block
cockers
I be the key to criminology
Blast
and rotate enemies at three buck sixty
Pick
me, as your Senator
Take the dove from your
battlefield son, fuck Pat Benatar
Run, head
for the hills
Back in the day, these niggaz
rolled up on me with
the trunk filled with
Bomber Brooklyns, sheeps and
quartervilles
Aiyyo take that shit, aiyyo
Money snap the grill
Body caught chills as he
ate this nine mil
Mine kills two but my nine
was sign sealed
And ready to deliver, but
Money had me too close
to reach for toast,
soon as that nigga blink I broke ghost
Dash
back to South Orange Ave with dollar bill to
smoke dope
I keep em rollin...

This is
DJ SAY WHAT?? on this motherfucker
Sayin the
dick is long, but my time is short
Before I
go, just remember
If your box ain't on FDS
radio, you're fuckin up