(feat. RZA)



[Doc Doom]

Oh how I love my a hundred spokes

Flossin and shit, California

Flossin on them gold ones

Black Knights

Old ones, I sold them

Sippin on a cold one, Rollin on them gold ones

The chrome was the old ones, I sold them



Can I get a drum roll please for my gold D's?

Hundred spoke Daytonas, wish we all could be California

Smokin bank in the corners in a black six-deuce

Hittin switches, dippin, switchin on that ackrite juice

Act like you, wan' try and take my D's

Watch how fast these slugs in this thang gon' leave

Watch how many holes in ya body it leaves

Watch how much pints of blood you bleed

May the fake thugs retreat, pop up barkin the heat

Caravanin nine-to-ten cars deep

Down the 'shaw where Knights is known to breakin laws

And if a bitch is ridin with me she's takin it off

Now get off ya job, if not bitch I'm layin you off

Cuz I guess the last nigga that you fucked with was soft

That ain't me, it cost just to floss with me

And how I love my a hundred spoke D's



[Chorus x3.5: Doc Doom]

Rollin, sippin on a cold one, Rollin on them gold ones

The chrome was the old ones, I sold them



[RZA]

Yo

Up in a black bourbon tank labelled GMC

Smokin on a Newport long and PCP

Gat tucked in, easy pass, I'm low duckin

Dimepiece bird on the side I'm finger-fuckin

Bouncin off this deuce-deuces, fat like Polo gooses

Eighteen-inch woofers movin studio acoustics

Rim tri-star, chrome on my side-bar

Don't hate crab cuz I caught ya bitch eye par

Platinum grill, re-enforced solid steel

Superstar engine, force of an eighteen wheel

That'll crash through brick walls, smash intersections

Move through ya city escorted with police protection

Heated polished seats with back massages

You gotta know how to roll in more like Kenny Rogers

Tinted glass, PS2 plus Dreamcast

Smoke screens, blindin high blasts

GPS satellite navigation

Automatic lock doors drop jackers to the station

You got beef you get fed to Doc Doom

Goon, you can't fuck with Wu Killa Bee Clan platoon

I might get Holocaust to come and cough on you

My nigga Crisis might love to let one off on you

Or Rugged Monk rolls up another blunt

The great Digi goes and lures out another cunt

Cuz I be Rollin, Rollin, Rollin on them twenty-twos

Ain't got no money or love for you funny fools

Cuz I be Rollin, Rollin, Rollin on them twenty-twos

Sippin brews, packin tools for you funny fools



[Monk]

I'm from the land of chaos where niggaz get shot for trippin

I caught a fool slippin on some D's, now I'm steady dippin

Cruisin, movin up the block cuz I'm the shit

Stick dick to hoodrats, make gangsta hits

I baptize my sticks, ice skate on seventeens

On the phone with five-oh, don't you love them D's?

While they spin, you freeze in ya souped up paint clean

Fifties, amps, six by nines and thangs

Comin down the block, let my sub straight bang

Like, "Fuck the po-po's, I'm not turnin it down"

I love to floss as I toss up a fifth of that Crown

Bank corner after corners, watch all the ho's smile



[Chorus x3.5]