Ryde or Die

Lyrics

[Intro: Styles P & Sheek Louch] Ryde or Die, nigga! What? This is it right here You ain't know? Huh, man, hah Huh, man What? Yo, yo, yo, yo [Verse 1: Sheek Louch] Aiyyo, if you 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 targetin' The LOX You might as well target a box That you gon' sleep in for years, all covered with rocks 'Cause I think not, I pop shots, I double what y'all got Ya hotshots ain't got blocks, ya'll puta, muchacha From the days in school, now a motherfucker rule Enough to drop my chain in coffee and keep shit 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 9 be on me 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, your's tagged And every bitch you grabbed, Sheek been done bagged [Verse 2: Jadakiss] Hey, yo, I hope you ain't tongue-kissin' your spouse 'Cause I be fuckin' her in the mouth Type of nigga buck at your house It's 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 die later I been nice, since niggas was watchin' movies on Beta Ready to clap everybody givin' me daps 'Cause believe it or not, they be the ones settin' the traps You listen to y'all shit? Then listen to our shit? There ain't nothin' y'all faggots could do, but gossip That's the reason now y'all niggas ain't got shit 'Cause every time I turn around, y'all on The LOX dick Niggas that's narrow, I just smack 'em with the barrel Give it to 'em at the light, like Caine's cousin Harold [Chorus: Ruff Ryders, (DMX)] 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 P] Man... fuck you and your son, y'all lower than scum Show me the money, I'll show you a gun Motherfucker S.P.'ll spin the corner while you polly with dunn I clap you, I clap him, and thats 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 could get 'Cause I sell records – plus I got a jail record Y'all niggas ain't sayin' shit until y'all bear 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 [Verse 4: Eve] Ain't no surprise, niggas Only fuck with recognized niggas Babygirl want the world? Get ya pies, niggas No ties, take 'em in all shapes and size, niggas No lie, prefer them ready do-or-die niggas What? What you want? Cutie 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 me like a thumb, if you want, 'til I cum – uh! [Chorus: Ruff Ryders, (DMX)] 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] What... 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 with the flames, coma-tosin' In my eyes, you could see what summer's holdin' Realizin' – every guy I'll fry if they ain't ridin' I burn to a degree of 130, 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 shit you on?! You better throw your boots on, and your un-flammable suits on 'Cause I'm comin' through in a Yukon Black-tinted, with 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-assed, duke And we are one whole, and y'all niggas is 1 slash 2, my gun blast you Tryna out the flames – what're you? Firemen?! You'll attract a hell of a backdraft – 'cause my fire retire men Aight then [Verse 6: DMX] It's my – survival instinct that keeps my head above the water (What?) Every day, I show another how I love a slaughter (What?!) Plug your daughter, full of more holes than sponges (Uh!) Taxin' businessmen for stocks over lunches (C'mon!) With these – I shoot the breeze, and extort Enough ki's from the Cuban, to build a fuckin' fort (What?!) Caught up in somethin' that I can't control Tryna get a hold of a bankroll that's swoll Catchin' bodies like a cold (Uh!) And I stay sick, so face it (Uh!) Make me chase it? I'll take your life and erase it (What?!) Waste it, in the fuckin' streets, 'cause it ain't worth shit (C'mon!) The undertaker take your ass under the Earth quick (C'mon!) I – love money, but scramblin's hot (Uh!) So I snatch up my man to hit the gamblers' spot (Uh) Twenty grand has got, one nigga shot, one nigga less What used to be his chest is now a mess under his fuckin' vest