[Intro: Styles P & Sheek Louch]
Ryde or Die, nigga!
What? This is it right here
You ain't know?
Huh, man, hah
Huh, man
What? Yo, yo, yo, yo
[Verse 1: Sheek Louch]
Aiyyo, 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 targetin' 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'll 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 9 be on me daily, ain't no poppin' 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, your's tagged
And every bitch you grabbed, Sheek been done bagged
[Verse 2: 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
It's too slick? Means she be suckin' my dick
And before you know it, I'ma have her stuffin' my bricks
Jada – if I kiss you now, you die later
I been nice, since niggas was watchin' movies on Beta
Ready to clap everybody givin' me daps
'Cause believe it or not, they be the ones settin' the traps
You listen to y'all shit? Then listen to our shit?
There ain't nothin' 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
[Chorus: Ruff Ryders, (DMX)]
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!
[Verse 3: Styles P]
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 polly with dunn
I clap you, I clap him, and thats rule number one
Suckin' 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 sayin' shit until y'all bear 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
[Verse 4: Eve]
Ain't no surprise, niggas
Only fuck with recognized niggas
Babygirl want the world? Get 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 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 cum – uh!
[Chorus: Ruff Ryders, (DMX)]
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!
[Verse 5: Drag-On]
What... 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 with the flames, coma-tosin'
In my eyes, you could see what summer's holdin'
Realizin' – every guy I'll fry if they ain't ridin'
I burn to a degree of 130, 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 un-flammable suits on
'Cause I'm comin' through in a Yukon
Black-tinted, with 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-assed, duke
And we are one whole, and y'all niggas is 1 slash 2, my gun blast you
Tryna out the flames – what're you? Firemen?!
You'll attract a hell of a backdraft – 'cause my fire retire men
Aight then
[Verse 6: DMX]
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!)
Taxin' businessmen for stocks over lunches (C'mon!)
With these – I shoot the breeze, and extort
Enough ki's from the Cuban, to build a fuckin' fort (What?!)
Caught up in somethin' that I can't control
Tryna get a hold of a bankroll that's swoll
Catchin' bodies like a cold (Uh!)
And I stay sick, so face it (Uh!)
Make me chase it? I'll take your life and erase it (What?!)
Waste it, in the fuckin' streets, 'cause it ain't worth shit (C'mon!)
The undertaker take your ass under the Earth quick (C'mon!)
I – love money, but scramblin's hot (Uh!)
So I snatch up my man to hit the gamblers' spot (Uh)
Twenty grand has got, one nigga shot, one nigga less
What used to be his chest is now a mess under his fuckin' vest
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