Verse (Chuck):



I got this 89-90, Pistons champ flat/ bill black starter cap with the hologram tags/

White Mag rims, red rubber tires/

Chain, frame, pegs, grips, shift to my supplier/

Dope man attire, gimme bout an hour/

And I'll have it clicking, ticking, gliding, flying like McGuyver/

I'm a Murder Club, dope pedal rider/

Nigel said I'm good to get that ink on my bicep/

I gets, busy as a bee on my bike grips/

If I catwalk this, I walk, I can fly this/

Bitch and I'm fly, and it's tied to the side/

that's the flag that I'm flying/

Add to the fact that it all coincides with these wheels that I'm riding/

3pt Mags make you think that I'm gliding/

... Shiiiit nigga I aint lying/

I got a long rap sheet that'll say that I'm tied in/



Chorus



Verse (Mikey):



I hit chuck on the pager yo, I'm kinda bored/

And got class til later so, open garage/

And I don't really know which way to go, I aint tryna skate it though/

And my bikes illegal, so they send for the law/

But I don't care joe, I just keep on pedalin/

Ride past shorty light skinned with no melanin/

Shirt look like somebody stuffed two melons in/

Had to stop, so I could preach like revered/

I grip on the handbrake and say "Whatup?"/

I skip on the handshakes, I'm straight. What else? /

I got two pegs on the back, and you got two legs under your skirt/

So ho, we head/

To the Dope Pedal Headquarters/

You would be there if you could/

Chuck got the red wheels and the white mags, but it's all good/

Got the gold hundred spokes like Boys in the Hood/

With the lime green frame, dollars on the bike/

Seat, handlebar grips, is the same as my Nikes/

In the mold, the gold I use for my spokes/

And the frame, the same as I use for my chain/ Out! 



Chorus