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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
|
Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Through the park past the dog run |
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Smell of shit burning in the sun |
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Watch the cab dent his door |
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Happy hour's here, let's pick up |
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JorgeLock 'em up, lock 'em up, lock 'em up |
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Three cold beers in a cup |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
|
Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
|
Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Inside Coney something ain't right |
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Too many people on a |
|
Friday night |
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I can't see straight in the flashing lights |
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But I got a feeling there's gonna be a fight |
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Wrap it up, pack it up saddle up |
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Full tank of liquor in our guts |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Drink 'em down, we gotta a ride |
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Going through the lower east side |
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Day or night, mags on the run |
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Looking for trouble, looking for fun |
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BMX, we got suss |
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When we ride don't mess with us |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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Ride, ride, ride, ride |
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We are the mags |
