Tekster: L-Burna Aka Layzie Bone. The New Revolution. Street.

(feat. Bizzy Bone)

[Intro: Bizzy]
(Yeah) Just, just, just, just, just, just
Just ridin, ridin (ridin in the city streets nigga)
Just, just, just (Hi Power nigga) I'm just ridin, ridin
Ridin the city streets in a black Benz, Lexus
I'm just ridin, ridin - I'm feelin you, you feelin me
Ain't nobody judge me (just, just, just)

[Chorus x2: Bizzy Bone]
I'm just ridin, ridin, ridin the city streets
In a black Benz, Lexus or hoopty feelin the beat
Tuckin the piece, I'm just slidin slidin
Feelin my heat, I'm feelin you, you feelin me

[Bizzy Bone:]
We're nothin but crumbs, crumbs, we're nothin but crumbs
We're nothin but crumbs, crumbs, we're nothin but crumbs
See it's the thug, thuggish ruggish, give me some bud
I'm out on the way to go get me some love
Stuck in the part where I put up the cup, don't
What about the slopes, tryin to get dangerous
We're nothin but crumbs, they gave me the tomb
And heavenly Father all over your son
The people are part of ya, never be found
But what was it for, tellin my people
To point to the guns and put up the funds
Finally see who really be ridin, look at the war and here we come
I'm the beginning and the ending, what are we spending, watch your paper
Gospel gangstas walkin in churches
Don't search us, they tyrin to escape the
Monotony and the monopoly, gotta get ready to put us in jail
Rot there, get in the car, "Days of our Lives" oh well
I'm from the best, the sick of the best
The sicker the test, won't settle for less
So Bizzy the Kid, king of Midwest
Let me get this that we feelin depressed
How many times we gather our rest
So why do they cuss, my lips are cleft
Lord knows I'm not ugly ? Heavenly Father you are the best
And how many times we gather our rest
So why do they cuss, my lips are cleft
The Lord knows I'm not ugly, Heavenly Father you are the best
One time

I'm feelin you, you feelin me
Ain't nobody judge me (just, I'm just)

[Chorus]

[Layzie Bone:]
I'm a rise to the fullest, make 'em do it, make 'em pull it
Fill your torsos up with bullets, nigga this the true shit
And it sits with a new kid; who goes there, I
We used to slam them do's, now we raise 'em up high
Lamborghini do's to the sky, my nigga
I be flossin on 'em dawg, I ain't shy my nigga
No wonder why nigga, I'm a hard workin horse
Keep my Grammy on a mantle, fuck puttin it in The Source
If rap was a bitch I'll want a divorce
And if rap was a study you would need you a course
I'm a rap 'til my voice gone, probably 'til I lose it
But y'all can't do it, duplicate my music
Listen 'til they cruisin, haters be refusin
They bitches wanna listen to it but they gotta be true with it
Get bucked, knuckle up, act a fool with it
It's rider season, there really ain't no rules to it
Nice and smooth pimp fluid, I'm the ace
Realest rapper since 'Pac, wanna take my place?

[Chorus]

[Bizzy:] Nobody's just...

[Mr. Criminal:]
I'm just ridin, ridin, ridin the city streets
Packin the strap in the back of my black khakis that's creased
Windows down, system on blast, feelin the breeze
Smokin and chokin that reefer dawg, I'm needin my trees (haha, ha)
Windows down, system on blast, feelin the breeze
Eyes on my rearview, watch my back for the police
The homies say watch my back for enemies
Touch your back, the Hennessy stay and scratch my remedy
Catch me dippin through the streets, givin a fuck, runnin them stoplights
Swerve it to the left, and I swing it to the right
I'm a hard switchin lane, scrapin bumpers and all
All eyes on me whenever I'm rotatin white walls
And as soon as night falls, I let them hundred spokes crawl
Straight dippin through the city with my riders and dogs
It's Mr. Criminal puttin it down with the homies from Bone Thugs
And these haters get flossed on, these bitches get no love

[Chorus]

[Bizzy:] Nobody's just...

[scratched:] "Crime Lab Productions... "