Erick Sermon - Rollin' lyrics

Nineteen ninety mother f**in six Pack that sh** up Get the motherf**in 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 sh** on [Verse 1] Whyyyyy must I be like that? Whyyyyy must I pack the gat? All my loud, n***as be rollin with the ruckus Ready to get deep bust rounds upon some s**az Heard P.P.P. and L.O.D. is a bunch of crazy motherf**ers Journey to the land is on The winner of the spittin bomb marathon The f** 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 b**hes Bring your craziest n***a, 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 [Verse 2] How ugly do you have to be to be a hardcore MC? n***as 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 b**hes 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 n***as Damn I hate a golddigger Yeah, gimme that microphone I make opponents sh** 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 a** armaggedeon 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 [Verse 3] 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 co*kers 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, f** Pat Benatar Run, head for the hills Back in the day, these n***as rolled up on me with The trunk filled with Bomber Brooklyns, sheeps and quartervilles Aiyyo take that sh**, aiyyo Money snap the grill Body caught chills as he ate this nine mil Mine k**s two but my nine was sign sealed And ready to deliver, but Money had me too close To reach for toast, soon as that n***a 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 motherf**er 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 f**in up