Black Knights, RZA - Rollin' lyrics

Oh, how I love my a hundred spokes
Flossin' and shit california
Flossin' on them gold ones black Knights
The chrome ones, the old ones I sold them
Sippin' on a cold one, rollin' on them
Gold ones, the chrome ones
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 bankin the corners in
A black six-deuce hittin switches, dippin
Sip'n on that act rite 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
The Knights is known for breakin laws
And if a bitch is ridin with me
She's takin it off like get on ya job
If not bitch, I'm layin you off
'Cause, I guess the last nigga that
You fucked with was soft that ain't me
It cost just to floss with me
Oh, how I love to floss
On my hundred spoke D's

Rollin', sippin' on a cold one
Rollin' on them gold ones, the chrome ones
The old ones I sold them
Rollin', sippin' on a cold one
Rollin' on them gold ones, the chrome ones
The old ones I sold them
Rollin', sippin' on a cold one
Rollin' on them gold ones, the chrome ones
The old ones I sold them
Rollin', sippin' on a cold one
Rollin' on them
Gold ones, gold ones, gold ones, gold ones

Yo, up in a black urban 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
'cause I caught ya bitch eye par
Platinum grill, re-enforced solid steel
Supercharge 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 massagers
You gotta know how to roll 'em
Like Kenny Rogers
Tinted glass, PS2 plus Dreamcast
Smoke screens, blindin high blasts
GPS satellite navigation
Automatic lock doors
Drive jackers to the station
You got beef you get fed to Doc Doom, coon
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
The Rugged Monk rolls up another blunt
The great Digi' goes and
Lures out another cunt
'Cause, I be rollin', rollin'
Rollin' on them twenty-twos
Ain't got no money or love
For you funny fools
'Cause, I be rollin', rollin'
Rollin' on them twenty-twos sippin' brews
Packin' tools for you funny fools

I'm from the land of chaos
Where niggas get shot for trippin
I caught a fool slippin on some D's
Now I'm steady dippin
Cruisin, movin up the block
'Cause, I'm the shit
Stick dick to hoodrats, make gangsta hit's
I baptize my sticks, Ice skate on seventeens
On the 405, Oh don't you love them D's?
When they spin, you freeze
Engine 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
Watchin all the ho's smile

Rollin', sippin' on a cold one
Rollin' on them gold ones, the chrome ones
The old ones I sold them
Rollin', sippin' on a cold one
Rollin' on them gold ones, the chrome ones
The old ones I sold them
Rollin', sippin' on a cold one
Rollin' on them gold ones, the chrome ones
The old ones I sold them
Rollin', sippin' on a cold one
Rollin' on them
Gold ones, gold ones, gold ones, gold ones