| Click clack on 'em
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| Push a wig back on 'em
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| Anybody that’s ever let off a.45
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| Knows about the kick back on 'em (Buck I!)
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| I was in a gun range… (When?)
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| On Sunday
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| Everyone says
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| Nobody ain’t ever this accurate!
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| Marksman!
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| Don’t believe me? |
| Go and ask them
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| Hey, you cheeky little bastard
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| You better really mind who you’re bargin'
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| Yo blud
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| Oh you think you’re… hold up
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| Wait there
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| I zoom in like a bloodclart close up
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| Man better know when I come around I got a shank on me or I got something else
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| I’m like «say that again?
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| That’s not what you said, you said something else»
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| You ain’t nothing that, I ain’t ever come across
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| Lick him with the buckle of the belt!
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| Why should I be shook?
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| He ain’t done fuckin' with himself
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| I have, that’s why I don’t rate my man
|
| Has he really got something in his side bag?
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| He just posing, side man
|
| Just walked to my nigga Kyze
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| Said he don’t know this yout
|
| Me neither
|
| Looks like he forgotten who I am
|
| Here’s what comes with the reminder
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| R6, two ryders, bomb blasting
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| You, target, head-top, casket
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| Okay, bastards, questions, no answers
|
| Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness
|
| R6, two ryders, bomb blasting
|
| You, target, head-top, casket
|
| Okay, bastards, questions, no answers
|
| Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness
|
| Just got the words from Ghetts
|
| Said there’s a couple nerds on the set
|
| I said let me turn on the TEC
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| Cause I’m from the era where you learn to respect
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| Nah I ain’t talkin' 'bout your olders
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| I’m talkin' 'bout the real deep rollers
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| I’m talkin' 'bout the shotgun loaders
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| Ryder’s a riddim held the ends on its shoulders
|
| Cause while you was nice on the fence
|
| I was right in the trench with a 9 or a 10
|
| All this, at my own expense
|
| Thinkin' that this don’t make sense
|
| Look at all the dough in the ends
|
| All these ballers around and they don’t buy skengs
|
| Like dem man
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| And they don’t pay rent
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| That’s why I walk around with a face of intent
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| That’s why I had to flip out on 'em
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| Jump out the whip and pull the stick out on 'em
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| No talking, no lip out on them
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| I eat man’s melon, then spit the pip out on 'em
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| Till they say I ain’t normal again
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| Cause a couple O. G's couldn’t war me again
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| Look, my little old school friend
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| Suck your dad, I ain’t touring again
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| See if you call me that, I might fly one at you
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| You know it’s not love if I ain’t smiling at you
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| Stop friending man’s friends and trying (that move)
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| Don’t fault me for him I ain’t tryin' that yout
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| Fuck that yout I’ve had enough of him
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| Back out the ting, bullets smother him
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| A whole piece crew come and cover him
|
| .38 spinning, lookin' like it’s buffering
|
| R6, two ryders, bomb blasting
|
| You, target, head-top, casket
|
| Okay, bastards, questions, no answers
|
| Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness
|
| R6, two ryders, bomb blasting
|
| You, target, head-top, casket
|
| Okay, bastards, questions, no answers
|
| Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Ryder , by - Ghetts. Song from the album Momentum 2, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп