Ruff Ryders, The LOX, DMX, Eve, Drag-On - Ryde or Die lyrics

Ryde or Die, nigga!

Yo, 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 target the LOX
You might 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 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 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, yours tagged
And every bitch you grabbed
Sheek been done bagged

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
Too slick, means she be suckin my dick
And before you know it
I'mma have her stuffin my bricks
Jada, if I kiss you now, you'll die later
I been nice since niggas was
Watchin movies on Beta
Ready to clap, everybody givin me daps
Cause believe it or not
We be the ones settin the traps
Listen to y'all shit, then listen to our shit
Ain't nuttin y'all faggots could
Do but gossip that's the reason now y'all
Niggas ain't got shit
Cause everytime I turn around y'all
On the LOX dick niggas thats narrow
I just smack em wit 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

Fuck you and your son, y'all lower than scum
Show me the money, I'll show you a gun
Motherfucker s-P will spin the corner while
You parle' with dun 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 bare 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

Ain't no surprise niggas
Only fuck wit recognized niggas
Babygirl 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? 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 me like a thumb, if
You want, til I come, 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, burnin niggas often
They call me Drag-On, I'm hot scorchin
Keep the block roastin
Light a dutch wit the flames coma-toastin'
In my eyes you could see what summer's holdin
Realizin, every guy I'll fry or dead ride
I burn to a degree of 130, and 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 unflammable suit's on
Cause, I'm comin through in 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 y'all are half-ass duke
And we are one whole
And y'all niggas is one slash two
My gun blast you, tryna out the flames
What're they firemen?
You'll catch a hell of a backdraft
Cause my fire retire men (aight then)

Its my, survival instinct that keeps my
Head above the water
Everyday I show another how
I love a slaughter plug your daughter
Full of more holes than sponges
Taxin businessmen for stocks over lunches
With these, I shoot the breeze, and extort
Enough ki's from the Cuban
To build a fuckin fort
Caught up in somethin that I can't control
Tryna get a hold of a bankroll that's swoll
Catchin' bodies like a cold
And I stay sick so face it make me chase it
I take your life and erase it waste it
In the fuckin streets cause
It ain't worth shit
The undertaker take your ass
Under the earth quick, i
Love money, but the scramblin's hot
So I snatch up my man
And hit the gamblin spot
Twenty grand has got, one nigga shot
One nigga less
What used to be his chest is now
A mess under his fucking vest