Rollin'

Nineteen-ninety motherfuckin' six

Pack that shit up

Get the motherfuckin' squad packed

We 'bout 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?

All my loud **** be rollin' with the ruckus

Ready to get deep, bust rounds upon some suckers

Heard P.P.P. and L.O.D. 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

Turn a vital situation suicidal, my idols is my uncles

Who started smokin' weed out of bibles

Gave me a puff when I bust my first rifle

Men-estration cycles, I give bitches

Bring your craziest ****, I'll give stitches

Whatever, go crew for crew, blow for blow

Bang your headpiece and sniff the snow off your ho

I keep it rollin'

Rollin', rollin'

**** be rollin', **** be rollin'

Rollin', rollin'

Rollin', rollin'

Kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug, then I jet

How ugly do you have to be to be a hardcore MC?

**** be fooled by my plaques and my light skin complexture

My whole texture is bombin', destroyin' the schools of the whack

From the land of the lost, you get tossed

Listen to my veloc', my crew's comin' off

Yeah, more sneaky than casino switches

Diggin' ditches for all Moskino bitches

Clockin' decimal figures, I'm gettin' out figures

Now my choice of truck is a Land

'Cause a Landcruise much bigger

It pack two to three more ****

Damn, I hate a gold digger

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 millimi's 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, armageddon style

24/7 while my crew che-check your profile

Rollin', rollin'

Rollin', rollin'

**** be rollin', **** be rollin'

Rollin', rollin'

Rollin', rollin'

I kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug, then I jet

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 Xs

Karl Kani down, camouflage can't hide the sounds

Of a four-pound

Givin' you Six Flags, bustin' merry-go-rounds

But my crew stay ill with that unreal appeal

I'll be the raw water, my cheek bones oughta 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 love from your battlefield, son

Fuck Pat Benatar

Run, head for the hills

Back in the day these **** rolled up on me with the trunk

Filled with Bomber Brooklyns

Sheeps and quartervilles

Ayo, take that shit, ayo, 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 **** 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

Saying the dick is long but my time is short

Before I go just remember if your box ain't on FDS Radio you're fucking up