| Lyrics: | "Come on out with your hands high!
"Hahahaha, with your hands high!
Hahhaha huh I better
reason with him"
Why don't you ride to the rhythm of a nigga don't give a fuck about
ya'
Won't even talk about ya', ho
You ain't know? I'm just a hustler, in spite of
myself
Ridin' all by myself, without no one else
Looky here
On my Doc Holidays, boy I
piss upon your grave
And wipe the smile away
Nigga, don't even try
Fistful of dollars,
we gon' ride
Ya hear me, nigga?
See I ain't got that many friends, white tombstone
[???]
Me and Rudy go to war with - anybody
From the niggas, to the killas
They callin' me a
bad man ridin' 'cross the desert plains
And Mama still can't explain without the 'caine
It's
raw, boy
Cowboys hear the "Yippie-yi-yay!"
Murder dancin' where the Indians play
Watch
what you say
Durin' the spiritual ritual huntified ceremony
Clickin' swines[?] that'll get
you on a Shetland pony
Memoirs of a madman - Killer Carl Cox and Bill Watts
'Couldn't rassle
nappy niggas with a lasso
Heated like Tabasco, it's on
Nigga quick on the draw
And he
get to bustin' on them bitches like the Last Outlaw
Uh, nigga
what!
"Hahha...
Cowboy I'm gonna [???] you are a testly li'l
cuss(whistling)"
Niggas and bitches call me Nino Corleone, I got a license to kill
But
ain't no playa hatin' in me, I got love for the real
So if you see me with my [guv?], just move
and step aside
Hit me up and let a nigga just ride
South Side
Got your mouth wide,
buckin' for nothin'
Now if you're 'bout it, be 'bout it 'bout it, and without no
discussion
Now if you're talkin', keep talkin |
