Ryde Or Die (feat. DMX, The Lox, Eve & Drag-On)

Ride or die, nigga What? This is it right here You ain't know? Huh, man, hah Huh, man What? Yo-yo-yo-yo Ayo, if you gonna sleep on something, might as well be a bed And if you gonna crack a nigga, might as well be ahead 'Cause if you target 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 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 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 popping 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 been done bagged Ayo, I hope you ain't tongue-kissing your spouse 'Cause I be fucking her in the mouth Type of nigga buck at your house Too slick, means she be sucking my dick And before you know it, I'ma have her stuffing my bricks Jada, if I kiss you now, you die later I been nice since niggas was watching movies on Beta Ready to clap, everybody giving me daps 'Cause believe it or not, be the ones setting the traps You listen to y'all shit, then listen to our shit Ain't nothing 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 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 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 parle' with dun I clap you, I clap him and that's rule number one Sucking 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 saying shit until y'all bare weapons And even when you dead, you can still fucking 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, niggas Only fuck with recognized niggas Baby girl want the world, gave 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 staring at me like "Damn, where you from?" You be coming 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 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, burning niggas often They call me Drag-On, I'm hot scorching Keep the block roasting Light a dutch with the flames coma-toasting In my eyes you could see what summer's holding Realizing every guy I'll fry or dead ride I burn to a degree of one thirty, my gun dirty 'Cause it got one buried So you better run, hurry or catch one early You wrong, trying to touch me What type of shit you on? You better throw your boots on And your unflammable suits on 'Cause I'm coming through in a Yukon Black tinted with gots in it Catch you while you smoking Send your casket, throw the sack in it But only half of it, 'cause y'all are half-ass duke And we are one whole, and y'all niggas is one slash two My gun blast you, trying to out the flames What're they, firemen? You'll catch a hell of a back draft 'Cause my fire retire men (alright then) 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) Taxing businessmen for stocks over lunches (come on) With these, I shoot the breeze, and extort Enough kids from the Cuban to build a fucking fort (what?) Caught up in something that I can't control Trying to get a hold of a bankroll that's swoll Catching bodies like a cold (uh) and I stay sick, so face it (uh) Make me chase it, I take your life and erase it (what?) Waste it, in the fucking streets 'Cause it ain't worth shit (come on) The undertaker take your ass under the earth quick, I (come on) Love money, but the scrambling's shot (uh) So I snatch up my man and hit the gambling spot (uh) Twenty grand has got, one nigga shot is one nigga less What used to be his chest is now a mess under his fucking vest