Lyrics Ryde Or Die - Ruff Ryders, L.O.X., DMX

Ryde Or Die

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 yall got
Ya hotshots aint got blocks, ya punta muchacha
From the days in school, now a motherfucker rule
And I could drop my chain in court, yeah, keeps ya cool
Thats how ice be, Im priceless, the iciest
And I dont gotta wear fatigues to blow out your chest
My bullets thump when Im laced in some fly shit, punk
The baby nine be on the daily, aint 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 bend em back
Ayo I hope you aint 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, ima have her stuffin my bricks
Jada, if I kiss you now, youll 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 yall shit, then listen to our shit
Aint nuttin yall faggots could do but gossip
Thats the reason now yall niggaz aint got shit
Cause everytime I turn around yall on the l.o.x.
dick
Niggaz thats narrow, I just smack em wit the barrel
Give it to em at the light, like kanes cousin harold
Chorus: repeat 4x
The ruff ryders!
(what?) the ruff ryders
Fuck you and your son, yall low wit the scum
Show me the money, Ill show you a gun, motherfucker
Spll 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 can get
Cause I sell records, plus I got a jail record
Yall niggaz aint sayin shit until yall bare weapons
And even when you dead, you can still fuckin get it A nigga thatll smack ya, fuck around and clap ya Styles p., your favorite rappers favorite rapper
Aint no surprise niggaz, only fuck wit recognized niggaz
Babygirl 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 come, uh I be the d-r, a-g, dash o-n, slash often
Comma, burnin niggas often
They call me drag-on, Im hot scorchin
Keep the block roastin
Light a dutch wit the flames comin, toastin
In my eyes you could see what summers holdin
Realizin, every guy Ill 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 Im 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 yall like half-ass dude
And we are one whole, and yall niggaz is one slash two
My gun blast you, tryna out the flames, whatre you, firemen?
Youll catch a hell of a backdraft
Cause my fire retirin, aight then
Its my, survival instinct that keeps my head above the water
Everyday I show another how a I love a 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 cant control
Tryna get a hold of a bankroll, lets role
Catch bodies like a cold, and I stay slick so face it Make me chase it, I take your life and erase it Waste it, in the fuckin streets cause it aint worth shit
The undertaker take your ass under the earth quick, i Love money, but the scrambles hot
So I snatch up my man and the gamblin spot
Twenty grand is got, one niggaz shot, one nigga less
What used to be his chest is now a mess under his fuckin vest