Ruff Ryders

Ruff Ryders - Ryde Or Die lyrics

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Yo if gon' sleep on somethin  might as well be a bed
 And if you gon' crack a nigga  might as well be a head
 Cause if you targettin the L.O.X.
 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 aint got blocks  ya punta muchacha
 >From the days in school, now a motherfucker rule
 And I could drop my chain in court, yeah, keeps ya 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 shit, punk
 The baby nine be on the daily, aint 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 shit paid for, yours tagged
 And every bitch you grabbed, Sheek bend em back

 [Jadakiss]
 Ayo I hope you aint tongue-kissin your spouse
 Cause I be fuckin her in the mouth
 Type of nigga buck at your house
 Too slick, means she be suckin my dick
 And before you know it, I'ma have her stuffin my bricks
 Jada, if I kiss you now, you'll die later
 I been nice since niggaz was watchin movies on Beta
 Ready to clap, everybody givin me gats
 Cause believe it or not, we be the ones settin the traps
 You listen to y'all shit, then listen to our shit
 Ain't nuttin y'all faggots could do but gossip
 That's the reason now y'all niggaz ain't got shit
 Cause everytime I turn around y'all on the L.O.X. dick
 Niggaz thats narrow, I just smack em wit the barrel
 Give it to em at the light, like Kane's cousin Abel

 Chorus: repeat 4X

 The Ruff Ryders! (What?) The Ruff Ryders

 [Styles]
 Fuck you and your son, y'all low wit the scum
 Show me the money, I'll show you a gun, motherfucker
 SP'll spin the corner while you parle' with dun
 I clap you, I clap him, and thats rule number one
 Suckin my dick, and I dont give a fuck what you spit
 Who you are, where you from, and who the fuck you can get
 Cause I sell records, plus I got a jail record
 Y'all niggaz ain't sayin shit until y'all bare weapons
 And even when you dead, you can still fuckin get it
 A nigga that'll smack ya, fuck around and clap ya
 Styles P., your favorite rapper's favorite rapper

 [Eve]
 Aint no surprise niggaz, only fuck wit recognized niggaz
 Babygirl want the world, gave ya pies niggaz
 No tops, take em in all shape and size niggaz
 No lie, prefer them ready do or die niggaz
 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
 Suck mine like a thumb, if you want, til I come, uh

 -Chorus-

 [Drag-On]
 I be the D-R, A-G, dash O-N, slash often
 Comma, burnin niggas often
 They call me Drag-On, I'm hot scorchin
 Keep the block roastin
 Light a dutch wit the flames comin, toastin
 In my eyes you could see what summer's holdin
 Realizin, every guy I'll fry or dead rowdy
 I burn to a degree of 130, and my gun dirty
 Cause it got one bury, so you better run, hurry
 Or catch one early
 You wrong, tryin to touch me, what type of shit you on?
 You better through your boots on and your unflammable suits on
 Cause I'm comin through wit 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 like half-ass dude
 And we are one whole, and y'all niggaz is one slash two
 My gun blast you, tryna out the flames, what're you, firemen?
 You'll catch a hell of a backdraft
 cause my fire retirin, aight then

 [DMX]
 Its my, survival instinct that keeps my head above the water
 Everyday I show another how a I love a slaughter
 Flood your daughter, full of more holes than spurges
 Taxin businessmen for stocks over lunches
 Wit these, I shoot the breeze, and extort
 Enough keys from the Cuban, to build a fuckin fort
 Caught up in somethin that I cant control
 Tryna get a hold of a bankroll, let's role
 Catch bodies like a cold, and I stay slick so face it
 Make me chase it, I take your life and erase it
 Waste it, in the fuckin streets cause it ain't worth shit
 The undertaker take your ass under the earth quick, I
 Love money, but the scrambles hot
 So i snatch up my man and the gamblin spot
 Twenty grand is got, one niggaz shot, one nigga less
 What used to be his chest is now a mess under his fuckin vest
Get this song at:
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Copyrights:

Author: David Styles, Earl Simmons, Ernesto Shaw, Eve Jeffers, Jason Phillips, Ken "Duro" Ifill, Melvin Smalls, Sean Jacobs

Composer: ?

Publisher: Ruff Ryders, Interscope Records

Details:

Released in: 1999

Language: English

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