C-Bo

C-Bo - Ride Til' We Die

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And we be blastin  smashin for the loot
 I  empty my strap and then I dash to my Coupe
 Ain't no half steppin  it's West Coast til I die
 Keepin the bundle and never fumble my 4 5
 With only one life to live  nigga we're still ridin
 We attack and murder and watch the scrilla multiply
 Fuck the funkity five  big business and expeditions
 If I die when I ride  don't leave shit to them bitches

 I raise my right hand with a Tek and my left I swear I'll ride
 til my death or touch collide, til my judgment, til I rest
 I'll be that gun smooth assassin, run with trues for blastin
 Snatchin up money bags in organised crime fashion
 Mafioso's mashin, the homicides is askin:
 "Who did thew blastin? Was is it the Mob Figgas mashin?"
 Ridin with no maskets, jobs can't be soppy
 Grippin the bail with the doves to bust you with my tongue

 Now I'm a savage young nigga witta chopper
 Motivated by Mob-type tactics, I'll blow your block up
 ???? sip to Cosby, out the game everytime
 Me and the Mob Figgas'll do the dirt and choke the 9's straight
 Savage's up on the crime, but a cross and dwelling lavishly
 Fuck some animosity but I might just cause a casualty
 Cos Boo the Hustler and Bo-Loc'll show ya, smell the aroma
 We gon' ride til we die, ain't no glory in lettin it slide

 Chorus:

 For all you punks that never heard of these
 And all you buster motherfuckers that wanna murder, these niggas
 We ridin til we die
 Ain't lettin shit slide, dumpin 4-5's, ridin til we die
 *repeat*

 ???? ???? California, I'm best ta warn ya you'll end up like Freddy
 Fuckin with my 'fetti, we mobbin three-deep in Chevy
 AP-9, Bo and I rider, we pull licks
 on a bitch, haven't you heard, we gets perved and hit the strip
 Pitch black tint, ain't takin no mo' shit
 Gotta get these niggas with my chop and hit the block and suit their knots
 and leave their whole block chalked up, got closed off of 4-54's
 They hit the block and then I got gone

 I'm never gang-related but dedicated to my niggas
 My niggas be killers, drug-dealers and ho killers
 Mackers in jackets, po' pimps, 9 packers
 Got these ballers in *?scallers?*, livin lawless, my niggas' flawless
 Niggas with knowledge represent in grounds of college
 White Acura coupes, pimpin hoes and stackin loot
 How much scrilla can I hustle up? Foldin my figures
 Dottin my decimals with commas behind my O's, so....

 You see gangs never work out the way I planned
 Cos I hustle all night, black eyes from gang fights
 A mad nigga's drama and addicted to street life
 I sold this paradise, sippin this game and pay the price
 I watch the sun glisten off this ice, caught you slippin
 Uzi, Mac and a jacker, young thief in the night
 Dangerous minds still lookin for a sign to reclude
 as to what the fuck I'm pissed to do
 If this rap game don't ??? for me, life might as well stop for me
 Give in to failin from 2-11's so niggas call me *?Jagger?*
 Ridin til I die on you bastards

 Chorus

 We ridin practice on swell, pushin luxury with no els
 Floss je-wels, Professional Baller, all about the dollars
 And when you holler, we hit like pits, attackin collars
 Ridin with the 4-5, I'm shady and connivin
 Choose dyin before I be a punk to this shit
 Dump when you funk when you with the clip cos if you slide, then you slip
 Hollow tips rip chests, til confetti turn branch to spaghetti
 Smash off like Andretti, are you ready?

 It ain't no runnin in a war, we're hardcore
 Steadily toe-taggin bodies, yeah, we're dyin some mo'
 No respect to dump Tek's, smashin in Apollo Supersports
 Cashin em out dollar stretch from Cali to New York
 On a mission from mail, court and million dollar bails
 Diamond je-wels, pushin 500 SL's
 I'm just a born killer, cap peeler for my scrilla
 Forever ride, nigga, until I get a hundred milla's

 I'm ready to ride so slide, so need the pistol
 Launch em like missiles as they shatter like crystals
 I heard Bo whistle, it's time to move out
 This mo' clear, we disappear and punch the big shootouts
 Another slaughter, you're block was blown clear out the water
 I land in your soldiers like dickin your daughter
 Don't bother beggin me for no forgiveness
 I'm in this to win this and takin care of business
 A witness to these murderous conspiracies
 will be found, dead to the ground and chopped with Glocks on both their
 knees
 So please don't sweat the technique, it's the way I was trained
 Murder men dictatin minds like Hitler dumpin Hussein
 I bring the pain, til I will remain the top ace
 Make you kiss my pinky ring then smack him dead in his face
 Cos I'm a RIDEAH......(and we'll just slide up and dump
Get this song at:
bol.com
amazon.com

Copyrights:

Author: ?

Composer: ?

Publisher: West Coast Mafia Records

Details:

Released in: 2005

Language: English

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