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[Intro] Nigga Who a real rider is? My family fool! That's right Puts it down on any hood or clique That's real trick [Verse 1] It's the young mackola, slangin crack to stackola The chip motorola holds the .44 to blow ya Dohja smoke ignites the fire like lighters The drop 64's catch the hoes on sighta Let's take a trip to where the homies puts it down They get [?] and say I never come around But I'm in traffic, tryna make a proper come up Livin in this hell hole makes me wanna blow my dome up My baby mama is more righteous than they come The hood's on my back, the child support don't help me none So now I'm on a mission, niggas in my rear view Damn it's the homie, what the fuck them niggas up to I bust a U. and still the homies on my backside I grab the .44 hit the petrol in a G-O metro And damn, I still got payments on this muthafucka I lost all the hub caps and the homies I don't trust 'em Songtexte[Chorus] Well Young Prod if these niggas start trippin And Twin I got your back too if it's mo' than two And if it's mo' than three they gotta fuck with me And that's how it's gon swing with this family thang [Verse 2] Y'all niggas kill me, feel me down when you up around Clown me, down me when your ass not up around me Now tell me G who's the fuckin playa hata Mad 'cause I put my family up on some paper My homie Joe gave me the 'fo on your bitch-ass Hey troop I got your back loc, so won't you put the smash Down, clowns like you I call haters Mad 'cause you jock us but still can't fade us It's young trip on a creep as I tips down, man They got nothin to lose but 50 G's to gain If I maintain a low profile like a Pirelli 'Cause niggas be schemin like evil side and wicked dreamin Night after night be havin a nigga straight plottin Like "Oliver Stone" out to get a grip of his own And it's on and ain't no fakin niggas out for the takin But if they come at me wrong Rata-tat-tat, ain't no get bacc [Chorus] [Verse 3] Now from the gate I gots to skate block to block when I'm swervin Puffin up on that herb and still down for curb servin Cutlass on deck, niggas trip, I'm a winner Khakis and Chuck T's, gold D's as I bend the Nigga's block, batteries hot, lockin a 40 Gold Rhimeson packin heat and it's on Niggas playa hatin 'cause I stack the chip, dippin in a C-low Puttin my bang down with my kinfolks I see them half-ass hoes so damn down I used to figure But now I'm hearin shit, it makes me wanna pull a trigger Nigga, I put you down when you had nathin Nigga, but now I'm hearin 'bout your playa hatin Rollin in my low-low '64 loc, with my kinfolks Fake-ass locs they get smoked tho' We still deep, we be tight like Vice Grips Collectin chips, dumpin clips on niggas who set trip [Chorus] [Outro] BiAtch Westside and Eastside Takin your ass on a gangsta ride So peep this shit out nigga It's the "in-a-cut-gang", baby, baby And it's the South Central Cartel, baby And it's the Young Prod thang, baby, baby And all them niggas can't fade me I'm crazy Yeah, we be puttin it down for the 199-muthafuckin-6 You know what I'm sayin? Aus Songtexte Mania