Styles P - Ryde Or Die lyrics

Ryde or die, n***a! [Verse 1: Sheek] Yo if you gon' sleep on somethin, might as well be a bed And if you gon' crack a n***a, might as well be a head Cause if you target the LOX You might as as well target a box That you gon' sleep in for years, all covered wit rocks Cause I think not, I pop shots, I double what y'all got Ya hotshots ain't got blocks, ya puta muchacha From the days in school, now a motherf**er rule Enough to drop my chain in coffee and keep sh** cool That's how ice be, I'm priceless, the iciest And I dont gotta wear fatigues to blow out your chest My bullets thump when I'm laced in some fly sh**, punk The baby nine be on the daily, ain't no poppin a trunk But if I pop the trunk, its to hand you a rag So you can wipe down the windows on the side of my Jag Must I brag? My sh** paid for, yours tagged And every b**h you grabbed, Sheek been done bagged [Verse 2: Jadakiss] Hey yo I hope you ain't tongue-kissin your spouse Cause I be f**in her in the mouth Type of n***a buck at your house Too slick, means she be s**in my dick And before you know it, I'mma have her stuffin my bricks Jada, if I kiss you now, you'll die later I been nice since n***as was watchin movies on Beta Ready to clap, everybody givin me daps Cause believe it or not, we be the ones settin the traps Listen to y'all sh**, then listen to our sh** Ain't nuttin y'all f*ggots could do but gossip That's the reason now y'all n***as ain't got sh** Cause everytime I turn around y'all on the LOX dick n***as thats narrow, I just smack em wit the barrel Give it to em at the light, like Caine's cousin Harold [Chorus] The Ruff Ryders! (What?) The Ruff Ryders The Ruff Ryders! (What?) The Ruff Ryders The Ruff Ryders! (What?) The Ruff Ryders The Ruff Ryders! (What?) The Ruff Ryders [Verse 3: Styles] f** you and your son, y'all lower than scum Show me the money, I'll show you a gun, motherf**er S-P will spin the corner while you parle' with dun I clap you, I clap him, and thats rule number one s**in my dick, and I dont give a f** what you spit Who you are, where you from, and who the f** you could get Cause I sell records, plus I got a jail record Y'all n***as ain't sayin sh** until y'all bare weapons And even when you dead, you can still f**in get it A n***a that'll smack ya, f** around and clap ya Styles P., your favorite rapper's favorite rapper [Verse 4: Eve] Ain't no surprise n***as, only f** wit recognized n***as Babygirl want the world, gave ya pies n***as No tops, take em in all shapes and size n***as No lie, prefer them ready do or die n***as What? What you want? cutey starin at me like "Damn, where you from?" You be comin at me like "Can I get some?" Lick your lips for this brown sugar s** me like a thumb, if you want, til I come, uh [Chorus] The Ruff Ryders! (What?) The Ruff Ryders The Ruff Ryders! (What?) The Ruff Ryders The Ruff Ryders! (What?) The Ruff Ryders The Ruff Ryders! (What?) The Ruff Ryders [Verse 5: Drag-On] I be the D-R, A-G, dash O-N, slash often Comma, burnin n***as often They call me Drag-On, I'm hot scorchin Keep the block roastin Light a dutch wit the flames coma-toastin' In my eyes you could see what summer's holdin Realizin, every guy I'll fry or dead ride I burn to a degree of 130, and my gun dirty Cause it got one buried, so you better run, hurry Or catch one early You wrong, tryin to touch me, what type of sh** you on? You better throw your boots on and your unflammable suits on Cause I'm comin through in a Yukon Black tinted wit gats in it Catch you while you smokin, send your casket, throw the sack in it But only half of it, cause y'all are half-a** dude And we are one whole, and y'all n***as is one slash two My gun blast you, tryna out the flames, what're they, firemen? You'll catch a hell of a backdraft Cause my fire retire men (aight then) [Verse 6: DMX] Its my, survival instinct that keeps my head above the water Everyday I show another how I love a slaughter Plug your daughter, full of more holes than sponges Taxin businessmen for stocks over lunches With these, I shoot the breeze, and extort Enough ki's from the Cuban, to build a f**in fort Caught up in somethin that I can't control Tryna get a hold of a bankroll that's swoll Catchin' bodies like a cold, and I stay sick so face it Make me chase it, I take your life and erase it Waste it, in the f**in streets cause it ain't worth sh** The undertaker take your a** under the earth quick, I Love money, but the scramblin's hot So I snatch up my man and hit the gamblin spot Twenty grand has got, one n***a shot, one n***a less What used to be his chest is now a mess under his f**ing vest