Yo DJ, play that new Bones song right now

(Still, you just don't hear me though, robbin' in the 94)

(But still, you just don't hear me though, robbin' in the 94)

Kicking in the door, clip hold 24, I'm home, bitch, what the issue is?

Bitching on the phone to a bitch so loud, couldn't even hear a dead boy enterin'

Caught him in the kitchen, I am fucking on a mission

12 shots, mother fuck a pistol whip

He sipping that mud, I slip on that blood, now the sole on my boots they glistening

Blood spill, spit in his face

Sprayin' him like some fucking mace

Creep pulling up in a G, skull stitched on the seats inside my getaway

Tanqueray in my glass, reminiscing on my fucked up past

Matter of fact, bustin' all black back, but there's memories I wish I never had

Kicking back, smoke a blunt

High as fuck, my brain is ripped

Talking to my partner 'bout a play for some guala, he down, I'm down, let's hit the strip

Storm clouds every day, even if it's just inside my head

Thunder and lightning, I'm coming to strike him

He see Bones and he know he dead

(Still, you just don't hear me though, robbin' in the 94)

(But still, you just don't hear me though, robbin' in the 94)

(Ride to it, ride to it)

(Your ass can ride to it)

(Ride to it, ride to it)

(Your ass can ride to it)

(Ride to it, ride to it)

(Your ass can ride to it)

(Ride to it, ride to it)

(Your ass can ride to it)