Streets

[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 2X: 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'ma 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'ma 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..."}