Texty: DMX. Ryde Or Die (remix).

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 targetin' 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 y'all got
Ya hotshots, ain't 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
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 bend 'em back

Ayo, 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'ma have her stuffin' my bricks
Jada, if I kiss you now, you'll 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 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 niggaz ain't got shit

'Cause every time I turn around y'all on the L.O.X. dick
Niggaz that's narrow, I just smack 'em wit the barrel
Give it to 'em at the light, like Kanes cousin Harold

The ruff ryders
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Fuck you and your son, y'all low wit the scum
Show me the money, I'll show you a gun, motherfucker
Spell spin the corner while you parle with dun
I clap you, I clap him, and that's 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 can get
'Cause I sell records, plus I got a jail record
Y'all niggaz 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 rappers favorite rapper

Ain't no surprise niggaz, only fuck wit recognized niggaz
Baby girl 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

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I be the D R, A G, dash O N, slash often
Come on, burnin' niggas often
They call me drag-on, I'm 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 I'll 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 inflammable suits on

'Cause I'm 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 y'all like half-ass dude

And we are one whole, and y'all niggaz is one slash two
My gun blast you, tryna out the flames, what're you, firemen?
You'll catch a hell of a back draft
'Cause my fire retirin', aight then

It's 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 ain't 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