Song Lyrics

Ruff ryders ("they're back!")

This is what you're tellin' me, okay
It all comes down to this huh? okay
This is what you fuckin' tellin' me?
That this is it? okay (grr)

How many slugs should I plug into yo' chest before it's get filled
Since you ain't got nothin' else to do but get killed
Been a fiend every since I found out how a slaughter taste
Empty a clip of hollow tips into yo' daughter's face
Cause that's just the type of shit that I'm on
Collect my dough, make the fuckin' hit and I'm gone
I ain't never gots to worry about the aim
Infrared, to your head, will make sure, I hit him in the brain
Blow! one mo' time for good luck, for what?!
He was already dead, what the f*ck?!
I be, breakin' my shit up off in a nigga
When I don't see, nothin' but soft in a nigga
Fuckin' coward, I wonder how it, feels
To have to look at your moms, squeal, after I hit her with the steel
Ill, that's how a nigga blows shit up
Believe whoever I hit up, will never get up
Tell me, how it's goin down nigga
If I'm bein' a fuckin' clown nigga (yeah)
Take a couple of rounds nigga, I keep a toast real close
In case I gotta turn the rest of yo' peeps into ghosts
F*ck it I'm ready for combat, with a gat
That'll make any nigga, become a meal for the fuckin' rats
There won't be nothin' left of money but a soup bone
Big motherfuckin' D-M-X from the group home

[Chorus]
Niggas don't mean what they say when they talk
Niggas lean a certain kind of way when they walk
Niggas don't mean what they say when they talk
Niggas lean a certain kind of way when they walk

Since the first day in it, I made a promise to myself
I was gonna make it happen, that's the way I felt
You know Philly never scared, play the cards we dealt
Doin' it my way, you bitches strugglin' for help
I hear your rumors and your so-called beefs
But it's a different story any time we meet in the streets
I'm fully in it bitch, your shit is juvenile to me
We can squash it, go 'head let you warm up the crowd for me
I hate to even be like this, y'all bring it out
To tell the truth it excites me, I scream it out
Sick wid'dit, ain't a bitch that can get wid'dit
Admit it, I'm that bitch you can't live wid'dit
And I'm a keep it comin' long as I'm here
Pitbull, back at'cha neck, I'm hearin' them cheer
E-v-e is what they need in they life, I'm bout mine
Now I'm done wit'chu, f*ck out my face, wastin' my time

Bitches don't mean what they say when they talk
Bitches lean a certain kind of way when they walk
Bitches don't mean what they say when they talk
Bitches lean a certain kind of way when they walk

Nah! uh, yeah, ay yo
I got a wet hase, coke, and a p-blow block
But y'all still missin' the point like a free throw shot
Get it? this ain't some'n you learn, this is some'n you earn
Turn it up and give me some'n to burn
That boy 'kiss is a hell of a man
Treat your life like a cell phone, so try to get a helluva plan
Cause most dudes left the hood broke
A couple knew what they was doin', so they came back like good coke
Down south they'll tell you 'kiss is good folk (that's right)
Up north I hit my niggas off with good smoke
Out west they ridin' with me, now I'm back hard
I'm just worried bout the rats that's in my back yard
Hated by many, confronted by none
I trust two guys, one's god, and one is my gun
Jada is the nice guy, 'kiss is the monster
D-block and double are is my sponsor

Cowards don't mean what they say when they talk
Cowards lean a certain kind of way when they walk
Cowards don't mean what they say when they talk
Cowards lean a certain kind of way when they walk

Fuckin' cowards!

Niggas can't be fuckin' serious, y'all niggas pussy
Niggas pussy, y'all don't like it? bring it, bitch!
Just a lil' some'n man, to let y'all know
To niggas know man, matter of fact
Matter of fact y'all niggas, excuse my back man!
Straight up y'all niggas, pardon my back!
I ain't got no rap for no sucka-ass niggas!
Five time motherfuckin' champ!
Five times! bitch! touch that! then holla back!
Motherfucker!

A nigga done had this rap shit
I'm out

Franklin Crum, Eve Jeffers, Jason Phillips, Jason T Phillips, Edwin Serrano, Earl Simmons