Ruff Ryders | Lyrics | Bugout

Aiyyo these niggaz is crazy baby
They can't f*** with the Dog
(Ya know)
Yo swizz, swizz
(My nigga)
Swizz, swizz, swizz

Another one?
(Swizz)
Another one?
(Another one?)
Are we bein' greedy or what?
I don't think so

C'mon baby, like you don't know these streets is, that bad
They'll find yo' body but in pieces
'Cause the beast is on some real cruddy s***
About to split yo' wig with some bloody s***

I ain't droppin' nuttin' but that ugly s***
(C'mon)
Bite yo hand like I tried yo man 'cause what you sayin' is nuttin'
Must really think I'm playin' but I'll be layin' while you bluffin'
Look out, they done let that crook out, and I took out
Enough of yo' family, to have a f*****' cookout

But what kind of get-together, is it when everyone get hit together
Or when I'm in the chair, just before they hit the leather
(C'mon)
I'ma say it, 'til I know, how much strength is left
And curse all who will breathe in the stench of death

Though on the sixth day after I'm buried I will rise
Enbalmin' fluid in my veins and blood, in my eyes
And them guys that was laughin' don't even smile anymore
How many four-pound rounds can yo' ass endure?

Twenty more, of that raw, stripped to the flesh
(What)
A thousand pounds of pressure
S*** that rip through the vest and pull yo' chest
But what's a Ruff Ryder supposed to do, when you frontin'?
Give you niggaz what you wantin', muh'f*****, nuttin'