East Side Mags

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