Let’s Ride

Yo, yo
If you just listen to my lyrics every day for a couple of weeks
My techniques will eventually kill you just like red meat
The Bhagavad Gita beliefs I speak be so deep
Most critics get mad because there’s nothin to critique
Whenever I’m rappin or rhymin
with irrefutably remarkable timin
I’m like, Charlie Chaplin pantomimin
If you John Blaze, or you James Flames
or you Jack Cremation, I’m Jermaine Propane (Jermaine Propane)
No pain no gain in this rap game
For the fortune and fame in order to remain
Most real MC’s, learn to adapt to the change
or get washed away like tears in the rain, in the rain y’all

Chorus: Wyclef, Product, Pras

[Clef] Just ride, just ride, ah just ride e’rybody just ride
Just ride, just ride, ah just ride e’rybody just ride
[Pro] When you in the streets and you’re drivin in your V
if you can see what I see, you’re prepared for the jackers
[Can] Old school, old school
[Pras] Everybody got to pack a mac now

Yo, if you wanna know, how I kick a flow
when I rip a show, with my lyric-al, I’ma let you know
It’s difficult, cause I’m a part spiritual, part para-physical miracle
And I’ma blackout in a minute too
Spittin like Bone-Thugs like
"Nigga-what? I’m-fin-to-get-a-gun and stick-em-up"
then crush a Thug’s Bones with a chrome slug
The black Cyrano DeBergerac of rap
with the ghetto Anglo-Sax’ poetic syntax
In fact, nigga don’t even give me dap when I see you
Just don’t give me no ice grill eye contact either
When you see me, whylin like Beenie on the speakers
"Zim zimma — who got the fire for my reefa?"

Chorus: Product, Pras, Wyclef

[Pro] You came home from a bid a nigga was in your crib
And the whole time you thought your girl was celebate
[Can] Old school old school
[Pras] You locked up and she need some di-ick
[Clef] Just ride, just ride, ah just ride e’rybody just ride
Just ride in the hood, just ride, all my .. uh, ah just ride

Yo physically I move at a velocity
that’ll break your stopwatch if you clockin me
My concrete jungle is like Jumanji
Iller than what you seen in the cinema
A five foot eight, nigga with more horsepower than eight cylinders
My brain consists of twin Pentium chips
Double the clock speeds of a 586
And nothin about my physical matrix is BASIC
I kick flavor beyond what your tongue is capable of tastin
You’ll be so surprised you won’t believe your own eyes
It’s like a Jamaican seein the snow for the first time
Rhymes of a sort, that distort space and time
It’s like explainin color to a man that was born blind

Chorus: Product

[Pro] Crimes on the street, come from a lack of eatin
It’s not my cup of tea, but I’ll give them the BEST
Motherfuckin BEST
And if you still out here I kick yo’ ass tomorrow
[Can] Old school, old school (c’mon!)
[Pro] And if you still out here, I kick yo’ ass tomorrow
[Can] Old school, old school (c’mon y’all)
[Pro] Frontin like you buyin food but you buyin crack bottles

Ah just ride, ah just ride
Everybody in the East just ride
Ah just ride, ah just ride
Everybody in the West just ride
Ah to the South, down South
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Ah just ride

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