94

Yo DJ, play that new Bones song right now
(Still, you just don't hear me though, robbin' in the 94)
(But still, you just don't hear me though, robbin' in the 94)

Kicking in the door, clip hold 24, I'm home, bitch, what the issue is?
Bitching on the phone to a bitch so loud, couldn't even hear a dead boy enterin'
Caught him in the kitchen, I am fucking on a mission
12 shots, mother fuck a pistol whip
He sipping that mud, I slip on that blood, now the sole on my boots they glistening

Blood spill, spit in his face
Sprayin' him like some fucking mace
Creep pulling up in a G, skull stitched on the seats inside my getaway

Tanqueray in my glass, reminiscing on my fucked up past
Matter of fact, bustin' all black back, but there's memories I wish I never had
Kicking back, smoke a blunt
High as fuck, my brain is ripped
Talking to my partner 'bout a play for some guala, he down, I'm down, let's hit the strip

Storm clouds every day, even if it's just inside my head
Thunder and lightning, I'm coming to strike him
He see Bones and he know he dead

(Still, you just don't hear me though, robbin' in the 94)
(But still, you just don't hear me though, robbin' in the 94)
(Ride to it, ride to it)
(Your ass can ride to it)
(Ride to it, ride to it)
(Your ass can ride to it)

(Ride to it, ride to it)
(Your ass can ride to it)
(Ride to it, ride to it)
(Your ass can ride to it)