"Ryde Or Die Boyz" as written by Barry Reese, Sean M Lassiter, Imsomie Leeper, George Jr. Clinton, James E Anderson, Edward Hazel and Jacques Rodney Jean....
Man! man! man! man! (larsiny)
Don't start nuttin ya ass can't finish
Ryde or die boyz gon', come and get witcha!

Man, y'all rap niggas is high fashion
Flashin, talker, no action
We read emcees like tv's with captions
Charts we smash on, guns we blast them
Spit fire like blow dryers and drag-dash-on
Your career won't last long, real name sean lassiter
Four words for y'all: f-type no passenger
Flow nastier, man you know what I mean
And I keep them diamonds shinin blue, yellow, and green
So the wrist look like a twister mat
Man, I cock the biscuit back and twist ya cap
Opps, clipped ya face just missed ya hat
This go out to those that think this just a rap
Well mister, address the gat and we'll address ya back
Nasty, nasty, spittin disgusting raps
And I doubt that cha'll cats can fuck with that

You don't want no war, you don't want no drama boy
These ryde or die boyz will rough you up
You don't want no war, you don't want no drama boy
These ryde or die boyz will touch you up
You don't want no war, you don't want no drama boy
These ryde or die boyz will bust you up
You don't want no war, you don't want no drama boy
You don't want no drama boy

I hate cops, and I like you even less
I turn your whole block into a bleedin mess
Niggas talk hard, and get an easy death
'Cause I pop buck shots like a peasy neck
And I can tell you won't blow, gotta scary finger
All talk, no show, Jerry Springer

I don't care if you a skinny or a burly nigga
I'ma have ya face lookin like a blurry mirror
We shake your features, y'all make believers
And the eight'll make you shake like you fake the seizure
I ball of the scale, break the meter
And if you ever go to jail, they'll rape and beat'cha
Hold up, take a breather, I'm way too tough
Got kicked outta pre-school, played to rough
I straight grew up, I'm still a bully
Used to take your lunch money now I steal your jewelry

Ha, okay, okay, okay, okay
Okay, okay, okay, okay


Don't make me reach for these, I got heat to squeeze
Make your face melt like pizza cheese
You need to leave, 'cuz you don't stand a chance man
I get greasy like mechanic hands
And y'all niggas all sweet, like candied yams
Clear blocks outs, hop out the family van
Lookin like a handy man, with tools on the waist
Put'choo in the ambulance with two's in your face
You'se a disgrace, you've never been hot
And I can tell how you talkin you ain't never been shot
Yo, it's whatever or not, if you want it, it's war
You can choose what I'ma use, the pump or the four
Then decide where you gon' die, trunk of the floor
'Cause I'ma tell the law I don't know nothing at all
I was just walkin my dog and discovered the ball
A lotta niggas think they hard, this is somethin for y'all


Okay, okay, okay, okay
Okay, okay, okay, okay


Lyrics submitted by DogXK

"Ryde or Die Boyz" as written by George S Clinton James Anderson

Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

Lyrics powered by LyricFind

Ryde Or Die Boyz song meanings
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