Redman - Rollin' lyrics

Nineteen ninety mother fuckin six
Pack that shit up
Get the motherfuckin Squad packed
We got to pull these shoes out like carpet
Word is bond test the crew with the guns and
Let's get this shit on

Whyyyyy must I be like that?
Whyyyyy must I pack the gat?
All my loud, niggas be rollin with the ruckus
Ready to get deep bust
Rounds upon some suckaz
Heard PPP and LOD is a
Bunch of crazy motherfuckers
Journey to the land is on
The winner of the spittin bomb marathon
The fuck you up lyrathon, whatever you choose
Prepare to lose that title
Turn a vital situations suicidal, my idols
Is my Uncles
Who started smokin weed outta bibles
Gave me a puff when I bust my first rifle
Men-estration cycles, I give bitches
Bring your craziest nigga, I'll give stitches
Whateva, go crew for crew, blow for blow
Bang your headpiece and sniff the
Snow off your ho i keep it rollin

I kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug
Then I jet

How ugly do you have to be
To be a hardcore MC?
Niggas be fooled by my plaques
And my light skin complexture
My whole texture is bombin
Destroyin da schools of the wack
From the Land of the Lost, you get tossed
Listen to my veloc
(ity) , my crew's comin off
Yeah, more sneaky than casino switches
Diggin ditches for all Moskino bitches
Clockin decimal figures
I'm gettin out diggers
Now my choice of truck is a Land
Cause a Landcruise much bigger
It pack two to three more niggas
Damn I hate a golddigger
Yeah, gimme that microphone
I make opponents shit bricks
Like Tyson's home
I keep the jacked cellular phone
Blown in three zones
Love seafood and keep my nine millimis chrome
So it can shine up your dome
When I proceed to give you what you
Need and clear spots like Sea Breeze
Wreckin your ass armageddon style
Twenty four seven while
My crew chin check your profile (Rollin)

I kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug
Then I jet

I'm the master of disaster, super rhyme maker
Grimy by nature, database maker
Play em out like Sega, Saturn
Blow your blocks in patterns
For about nine acres
Testes, crew wearin bulletproof
And double S's karl Kani down
Camoflouge can't hide the sounds
Of a fo' pound (boo yaa)
Givin you Six Flags, bustin merry go rounds
But my crew stay ill with that unreal appeal
I be the raw water
My cheek bones outta have gills
Below like the opera
Smooth on the trigger for
All you block cockers
I be the key to criminology
Blast and rotate enemies at three buck sixty
Pick me, as your Senator
Take the love from your battlefield son
Fuck Pat Benatar run, head for the hills
Back in the day
These niggas rolled up on me with
The trunk filled with Bomber Brooklyns
Sheeps and quartervilles
Aiyyo take that shit
Aiyyo Money snap the grill
Body caught chills as he ate this nine mil
Mine kills two but my nine was sign sealed
And ready to deliver
But Money had me too close
To reach for toast
Soon as that nigga blink I broke ghost
Dash back to South Orange Ave with
Dollar bill to smoke dope i keep em rollin

This is DJ SAY WHAT on this motherfucker
Sayin the dick is long, but my time is short
Before I go, just remember
If your box ain't on FDS radio
You're fuckin up