Tekster: Solomon Childs. Funeral Talk (The Eulogy). Let's Ride.

[Intro: Solomon Childs]
East coast, west coast, east coast (yeah, man)
East coast, west coast
East coast, west coast, east coast (uh)
East coast, west coast
West coast (all the ladies)
East coast, west coast (get 'em)
West coast, east coast
East coast (uh-huh), west coast, east coast (yeah)
East coast, west coast

[Solomon Childs]
From Junior's to Roscoe's
From Venice Beach to crates of Corona's from Kosko's
Maryland and VA late nights, these freak bitches got lasso's
Type of bitches take it more in they assholes
From Detroit to Texas, frontin' in St. Louis
Playin' Nelly in your Lexus
But it's all good, cuz the money got your groove vibrating
On the track, Mardi Gras, like we out in New Orleans
ATL, the bitches blowin' out, when they be balling
San Diego to Sacramento, we jingling baby
Two shots of Henny got us mingling, baby
We kill a nigga, for platinum bound
Front, so ya baby momma can watch ya faggot ass swallow the pound
And ain't it something, how these motherfuckers never bite nothing
But stay hollering, how they bloodhounds, another nigga done bit
You want the Theodore Unit to act up, whoodie
Get yourself all shot up, whoodie

[Chorus x2: Solomon Childs]
Another nigga done bit, another nigga done bit
Running his mouth...
Another nigga done bit, walking the wrong route
I told you about that fronting on niggaz