Rollin' Lyrics - Redman

Nineteen ninety mother fuckin' six 

That's that shit though 

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 

Why, must I be like that? Why, must I pack the gat? 

On my left, niggaz 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 lierathon, whatever you choose 

Prepare to lose that title 

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Turnin' vital situations suicidal, my idols, is my uncles 

Who started smokin' weed outta Bibles 

Gave me a puff when I bust my first rifle 

Menstruation 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 hoe 

I keep it rollin', rollin' 

Rollin', rollin' 

I keep it rollin', rollin' 

Rollin', rollin' 

Photos 

Ask yourself man 

How ugly do you have to be to be a hardcore M. C.? 

Niggaz 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, my crew's comin' off 

Yeah, more sneaky than casino switches 

Diggin' ditches for all Moschino bitches 

Clockin' decimal figures, I'm gettin' out diggers 

Now my choice of truck is a Land 

'Cause a Land cruise much bigger 

It pack two to three more niggaz 

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', rollin'' 

Rollin', rollin'' 

Niggaz be rollin' 

Niggaz be rollin' 

Rollin', rollin'' 

Rollin', rollin' 

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 Ss 

Karl Kani down, camouflage can't hide the sounds 

Of a fo' pound 

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 dove from your battlefield son, fuck, Pat Benatar 

Run, head for the hills, back in the day, these niggaz 

Rolled up on me with the trunk filled with Bomber Brooklyns 

Sheeps and Quartervilles, take that shit, 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 D. J., 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