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Lyrics for The Ride ft The Weeknd by DRAKE

The Ride ft The Weeknd - Lyrics

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[Drake]
You wonít feel me until everybody
Says they love you, but itís not love
And your suit is Oxblood and your girl
Fuckiní hates you and your friends faded off shots of
What you ordered
Then forget about the game you're on top of
Your famous girlfriend's ass getting
Thicker than the plot does
And when you forget it, that's when she pops up
And you got a drop but you ride around with the top up
I got 3 SUVs for niggas dressed like refugees
And deal with the questions
About all your excessive needs
And you do dinners at French Laundry and Napa Valley
Scallops and glasses of Dolce
That shit's right up your alley
You see a girl and you ask about her
Bitches smiling at you, it must be happy hour
They put the cloth across your lap soon as you sat down
Itís feeling like you on every place you choosing to be at now
Walking through airport security with your hat down
Intead of getting a pat down, they just keep on
Saying that they feel you nigga

[Hook - The Weeknd]
Iíve been faded too long
[Drake]
You won't feel me til you want it
So bad you tell yourself youíre in it
And tell the world around you
That your paperwork is finished
And steal your mother's debit cards
So you maintain an image
And ride around in overpriced
Rental cars that ain't tinted
You need a minute? You got it
You know its real when your
Latest nights are your greatest nights
The sun is up when you get home, that's just a way of life
Apartment 1503: some couches and paintings
When you record with 2 others that want the same things
It starts to feel better than home feels
And so you up there every night you swear you getting close
That champagne money was for gas and phone bills
But shit you bout to spend it on what matters most
You drop a couple songs and hopes that you can beat a nigga
And come out every night to let the city see the nigga
Telling stories that nobody relate to
And even though they hate you they
Just keep on telling you they feel you, nigga

[Hook]
[Drake]
I havenít been inside terminal one and three in so long
Iím driving right up to it now
Make sure you got your coat on
That runway can be cold especially after summer's rolled on
And all you knew is alcohol and city lights and slow songs
Performance out the years, got you asking whats good at home
Whats good at home?
The same hoes are still at it, I shoulda known
My young niggas popping Mís and sipping dirty jones
Problem children that all be repping Octobers Own
Brand new girl and she still growing
Brand new titties, stitches still showing
Yeah and she just praying that the heals good
Iím bout to fuck and Iím just praying that it feels good
I really donít know much but shit I know a secret
They say more money more problems, my nigga donít believe it
I mean sure thereís some bills and taxes Iím still evading
But I blew six million on myself and I feel amazing
Young money maker, season ticket holder
Season switching over
I come through them bitches
Still scorching as if I didnít notice
You niggas getting older, I see no threat in Yoda
Iím out here messing over the lives of these niggas
That couldnít fuck with my freshman flowder
Look at that fucking chip on your nephews shoulder
My sophomore they was all for it, they all saw it
My Juniors and senior will only get meaner
Take Care nigga

Thanks to Kake for correcting these lyrics
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