(Intro)
Nigga
Who a real rider is?
My family fool!
That`s right
Puts it down on any hood or clique
That`s real trick
(Verse 1)
It`s the young mackola, slangin crack to stackola
The chip motorola holds the .44 to blow ya
Dohja smoke ignites the fire like lighters
The drop 64`s catch the hoes on sighta
Let`s take a trip to where the homies puts it down
They get (?) and say I never come around
But I`m in traffic, tryna make a proper come up
Livin in this hell hole makes me wanna blow my dome up
My baby mama is more righteous than they come
The hood`s on my back, the child support don`t help me none
So now I`m on a mission, niggas in my rear view
Damn it`s the homie, what the fuck them niggas up to
I bust a U. and still the homies on my backside
I grab the .44 hit the petrol in a G-O metro
And damn, I still got payments on this muthafucka
I lost all the hub caps and the homies I don`t trust `em
(Chorus)
Well Young Prod if these niggas start trippin
And Twin I got your back too if it`s mo` than two
And if it`s mo` than three they gotta fuck with me
And that`s how it`s gon swing with this family thang
(Verse 2)
Y`all niggas kill me, feel me down when you up around
Clown me, down me when your ass not up around me
Now tell me G who`s the fuckin playa hata
Mad `cause I put my family up on some paper
My homie Joe gave me the `fo on your bitch-ass
Hey troop I got your back loc, so won`t you put the smash
Down, clowns like you I call haters
Mad `cause you jock us but still can`t fade us
It`s young trip on a creep as I tips down, man
They got nothin to lose but 50 G`s to gain
If I maintain a low profile like a Pirelli
`Cause niggas be schemin like evil side and wicked dreamin
Night after night be havin a nigga straight plottin
Like Oliver Stone out to get a grip of his own
And it`s on and ain`t no fakin niggas out for the takin
But if they come at me wrong Rata-tat-tat, ain`t no get bacc
(Chorus)
(Verse 3)
Now from the gate I gots to skate block to block when I`m swervin
Puffin up on that herb and still down for curb servin
Cutlass on deck, niggas trip, I`m a winner
Khakis and Chuck T`s, gold D`s as I bend the
Nigga`s block, batteries hot, lockin a 40
Gold Rhimeson packin heat and it`s on
Niggas playa hatin `cause I stack the chip, dippin in a C-low
Puttin my bang down with my kinfolks
I see them half-ass hoes so damn down I used to figure
But now I`m hearin shit, it makes me wanna pull a trigger
Nigga, I put you down when you had nathin
Nigga, but now I`m hearin `bout your playa hatin
Rollin in my low-low `64 loc, with my kinfolks
Fake-ass locs they get smoked tho`
We still deep, we be tight like Vice Grips
Collectin chips, dumpin clips on niggas who set trip
(Chorus)
(Outro)
BiAtch
Westside and Eastside
Takin your ass on a gangsta ride
So peep this shit out nigga
It`s the in-a-cut-gang, baby, baby
And it`s the South Central Cartel, baby
And it`s the Young Prod thang, baby, baby
And all them niggas can`t fade me
I`m crazy
Yeah, we be puttin it down for the 199-muthafuckin-6
You know what I`m sayin?
