| «It's the Ryders and the Mobb»
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| «Yo Alchemist, drop that new shit for 'em right fast»
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| This is it homie, we gon' go with this one right here
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| «It's the Ryders and the Mobb»
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| Aiyyo, I’m never empty-handed, understand dunn?
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| I keep a fistful of cash, the other on some ass son
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| Smack the shit out niggas like handball, or I give 'em a fair one
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| They ain’t gon' do nothin I dare 'em
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| I hear 'em, «He a gangsta, he don’t take crap
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| Until I point this cali' at him, tell him take that»
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| In fact, I’m about to blow but that you already know
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| Shit I just strap holdin cracks just a minute ago
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| Now I’m in a Jag with a rag and the tints is low
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| And you mad cause you a fag and your chick’s a ho
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| Yeah she been around more than any bitch I know
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| You should be glad though, I taught her everything she knows
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| Whatchu reachin fo'? |
| What I done touched a nerve?
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| You wanna hurt somethin now you know I’m fuckin your bird?
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| Cause that’s my word, front like you want a war
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| And homie we can settle the score, whatchu waitin for?
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| Yo, I’m the Tracy McGrady of the shit, I take you right to a hole
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| Shove the tip of the nose of the silencer right in your nose
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| Y’all niggas is degenerates
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| It don’t make sense to do business with a nigga, if you ain’t gon' benefit
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| Fuck a Bentley and a jet, I’m gutter nigga check it
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| All I need is two-point-five and a couple Intrepids
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| It’s drama, I ain’t starin you down
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| I’mma clap ya forehead and dump you on one of them merry-go-rounds
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| We put the packs of crack in the streets to get you a stack
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| It’s been acid since they made the first box of Cracker Jacks
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| Beat in the staircase purple’d out, rollin a phat
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| Bottle of 'gnac next to me, on my lap is the mac
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| These slugs hit you they takin your arms
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| D-Block got the kind of weapons that Bush, tried to take from Saddam
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| From Y-O, to your hood, to QB
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| Catch me thuggin it out shootin dice twistin up a O-Z
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| Y’all faggots don’t know me, it’s no remorse
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| When hollows rip through your corpse
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| Homicide’ll find you dead on your porch
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| «It's the Ryders and the Mobb»
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| That’s what I’m talkin 'bout, yo, yeah…
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| Like white on rice, I’ll be on you, you couldn’t even shake me off
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| Be in your chest like a smoker’s cough
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| Put the hammer in your mouth and have you suckin it off
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| Like a ho tryin to stop 'fore she find the law
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| You in the club, you’s a thug, why you playin the door?
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| Like you know somethin I don’t playa then put me on
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| You cowards so nervous, I got broads that’ll get it on
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| With any fella and think before they talk
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| Mine like a nigga on the road takin his last walk
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| And when I come niggas kiss they cross
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| You know you done fucked up now
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| Niggas talkin just to be talkin, ain’t nothin sweet but the pound
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| Repeatly vow, they never go against the grain
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| Know I been doin it, since a little stain
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| Pull a hammer, move you right out the lane
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| Niggas talkin out they ass like you just sniffed 'caine
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| My niggas live life with a death wish
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| Smoke for breakfast, a lot of people hope that I’m breathless
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| Wanna send my ghost to the essence
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| Go head nigga, I don’t care I heard the light was fluorescent
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| Niggas count they ones but never they blessings
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| 'Til they at the wrong end out of the Wesson
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| D-Block five star general
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| Die Hard like Bruce Willis nigga, I could put a end to you
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| Ruff Ryder soldier, cold as Antarctica
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| I’ma make the plans to pick your man’s daughter up
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| Big.45 in the sweats of my Nautica
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| Fifty-five bricks when I’m tryin to pick my order up
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| All my niggas flow, nobody watered up
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| Shoot 'til the gun empty, then niggas sort it up
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| Anytime P in the booth, nigga record it up
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| G-host toast, I kill niggas when the quarter’s up |