Ryde Or Die Lyrics - Ruff Ryders

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 ain't got blocks, Tu Puta 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 don't 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, ain't no poppin' a trunk 

But if I pop the trunk, it's 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 

Ayo I hope you ain't 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 

That's the reason now y'all niggaz ain't got shit 

Ain't nuttin' y'all faggots could do but gossip 

'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 

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 

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 prolly within' 

I clap you, I clap him, and that's rule number one 

Suckin' my dick, and I don't 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 

Ain't no surprise niggaz, only fuck wit recognized niggaz 

Baby girl 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 cum, uhh 

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 

I be the D R, A G, dash O N, slash often comma, burnin' niggaz 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', alright then 

It's my, survival instinct that keeps my head above the water 

Everyday I show another how a lover 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 can't 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 

Wasted, in the fuckin' streets 'cause it ain't worth shit 

The undertaker take your ass under the earth quicker 

I love money, but the scrambles hot 

So I snatch up my man and the gamblin' spot 

Twenty grand is got, when niggaz shot, one nigga less 

What used to be his chest is now a mess under his fuckin' vest