Ryde Or Die

(album: Ryde Or Die Vol. 1 - 1999)

Ryde or die, nigga!

[Sheek Louch:]
Yo 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 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 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 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 shit paid for, yours tagged
And every bitch you grabbed, Sheek been done bagged

[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
Too slick, means she be suckin 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 niggas 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 shit, then listen to our shit
Ain't nuttin y'all faggots could do but gossip
That's the reason now y'all niggas ain't got shit
Cause everytime I turn around y'all on the LOX dick
Niggas 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

[Styles P:]
Fuck you and your son, y'all lower than scum
Show me the money, I'll show you a gun, motherfucker
S-P will 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 could get
Cause I sell records, plus I got a jail record
Y'all niggas 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:]
Ain't no surprise niggas, only fuck wit recognized niggas
Babygirl want the world, gave ya pies niggas
No tops, take em in all shapes and size niggas
No lie, prefer them ready do or die niggas
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 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

[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 coma-toasting
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 shit 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-ass dude
And we are one whole, and y'all niggas 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)

[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 fuckin fort
Caught up in somethin that I can't control
Tryna get a hold of a bankroll that's swoll
Catching 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 fuckin streets cause it ain't worth shit
The undertaker take your ass 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 nigga shot, one nigga less
What used to be his chest is now a mess under his fucking vest