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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Blood Raw
Blood Raw
Vocals
Slick Pulla
Slick Pulla
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Renaldo Whitman
Renaldo Whitman
Songwriter
Alfred Gaines, Jr.
Alfred Gaines, Jr.
Songwriter
Bruce Falson
Bruce Falson
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Alfred Gaines, Jr.
Alfred Gaines, Jr.
Producer
Larry Pardillo
Larry Pardillo
Recording Engineer
Tony Rey
Tony Rey
Mixing Engineer
Chris Athens
Chris Athens
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

Sunday might ride the 'vert, Monday might push the 'Lac
Two time felon but bet you, boy, I toot the strap
We gon' ride tonight (Hey), we gon' ride tonight (Ah man)
Might ride through the trap (Yeah), deuce phones, I'm a grown man (Oh)
Super bad bitch, I don't give a fuck about a old man
We gon' ride tonight (Yeah), we gon' ride tonight (Ayy)
Candy cost three stacks, rims cost ten plus
Tangerine orange with the blue leather guts (Ah man)
Throw the deuce when I roll through the city
Hot **** out the hood make it look so good (Yeah)
Hit the projects, grab a couple freeze cups
Lil' scrappy **** tryna get they G's up (Amen)
They on deck and they hoes tryna choose
Charger got a green candy sittin' on twenty-two's (Man)
Slow motion 'cause the hood where the hoes at
And real hood **** know where the blow at (Yeah)
Everything all gravy 'til we take it home
And I'll split a ****'s shit if a fuck **** get wrong
Sunday might ride the 'vert, Monday might push the 'Lac
Two time felon but bet you, boy, I toot the strap
We gon' ride tonight (Hey), we gon' ride tonight (Ah man)
Might ride through the trap (Yeah), deuce phones, I'm a grown man (Oh)
Super bad bitch, I don't give a fuck about a old man
We gon' ride tonight (Yeah), we gon' ride tonight (Ayy)
Pop my collar on these ****, they flexin' (Hahaha)
These condo ass ****'s cars lookin' like a Mexican (Nah)
And my trunk like a college band (Boom, boom)
Swear to God trunk beat like a college band (Ah man)
Hawaiian Punch, Froot Loop colors (Yeah)
He got the piece on my neck, the whole crew call me Barney Rubble
Good shine state, I'm so Florida
Candy peach on the 'Lac, shit, I'm so Georgia (Man)
The hood hoes, they in love with a player
Got the whole muh'fuckin' hood hollerin' 'bout (Yeah, ain't a man)
I'ma slide through later tonight
Let a **** get right so we could ride tonight (Ayy)
Sunday might ride the 'vert, Monday might push the 'Lac
Two time felon but bet you, boy, I toot the strap
We gon' ride tonight (Hey), we gon' ride tonight (Ah man)
Might ride through the trap (Yeah), deuce phones, I'm a grown man (Oh)
Super bad bitch, I don't give a fuck about a old man
We gon' ride tonight (Yeah), we gon' ride tonight (Ayy)
I come down the strip pancakin' (Yeah)
Hollow man, **** can't see me, Kevin Bacon (For real)
Kush blunts got my bitch here stinkin'
But she love a young **** so she ridin' for (Ridin' for)
When I ride down the strip, yeah, I throw up them fours (Throw up them fours)
Nothin' but clean muscle cars, yeah, that's all we yolk (Uh-huh)
Gotta sell, the buddies dealt powder coke (Come on)
Now the feet match the body when I ride and float (That's right)
The human chandelier way my necklace glow (Necklace glow)
You could call me Slicky Rich 'cause the kid get dough (Say what?)
White-on-white drop Chevy, call it marshmallow ('Mallow)
Or the hard top coupe, call it armadillo (Haha)
Sunday might ride the 'vert, Monday might push the 'Lac
Two time felon but bet you, boy, I toot the strap
We gon' ride tonight (Hey), we gon' ride tonight (Ah man)
Might ride through the trap (Yeah), deuce phones, I'm a grown man (Oh)
Super bad bitch, I don't give a fuck about a old man
We gon' ride tonight (Yeah), we gon' ride tonight (Ayy)
Written by: A. Gaines, B. Falson, Renaldo Whitman
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