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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Ruff Ryders
Ruff Ryders
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Kasseem Dean
Kasseem Dean
Composer
Sean Jacobs
Sean Jacobs
Composer
C. Rios
C. Rios
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Swizz Beatz
Swizz Beatz
Producer
Rich Keller
Rich Keller
Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

-Vaya -Come on -Vaya -A vailar Where're my niggaz with the big dicks? -Ahh Where're my niggaz with the hot whips? -Ahh Where're my niggaz living better? We want Barettas and Amarettas, butter leathers and mad cheddar (Ayo Pun, I got you baby) We play the front not the back, when there's beef I attack Grab the guns and start lighting Ya'll the bitch niggaz behind cars scared to death like "yo, who fighting?" How the fuck you teaching me I ain't got no obedience Ya'll are made of shit I'm the thug's ingredients And for my niggaz I peel like fucked up paint jobs Cover your block and put holes in you like old blankets Fuck a bitch use a sock and wipe my nut what? Run in your spot and use a Glock to get my cut what? Smack you in public and embarrass you slut what? Put you on punishment the same way I do to my son And the only bullets by my stomach be the clip from my gun And when my gun busts it's over so close the curtains My silencer's like ch, ch, ch like birds was chirping I like Boricuas ya know that Sheek be freaky I put coke in their peepee then stuff the bras Put some coke in the bras that look like coconuts That's what's up don't have Sheek's click clack this up Disload the back pack her bitch ass back me up You know double R and Terror Squad niggaz want they cut. I'm well know like Al Capone, full blown like Tone Montana In the zone sitting on chrome stoned sipping on Champana Rolling ganja up in Bible paper A high that will take us through the eyes of Christ, John, Elijah, Jacob I make the kind of green that hustler's dream Busting out that custard cream Piper cause I'm piped up with the mustard team Plus the queen Fort Knox and hearts King of medallions Monty Guard Even Italians see my battalion prop the broad I got the squad over qualified pulling over Karl Kani Range Rover tilted three wilted hydraulic slide Spark the Live in the crowd ripping trough housings Like the Wu do in Shaolin John Blazing on a pound of buddha and all the mami chulas, They want to ride on my Honda scooter You know the red one from the video But really though she ain't coming and she ain't running the Trizzie yo! Disrespect the Don word's bond I'm gonna shoot ya We can get it on maricon hijo'de gran puta Who you fucking' wit? Bitch ass nigga you ain't running' up on shit Talking' like you gonna bust yo clip Nigga you ain't no fucking threat You talk a lot but you ain't never realized that if you walk that block Cock that Glock, think I'm pussy oh shit man! Big Punisher's off his rocker What you got? Beef wit' me? Aight then papi, Sheek's with me Thought you cats were gonna creep on me Without some type of an injury. I see coward in yours, what you up in my eyes? Big dick between mine, What the fuck between your thighs? Pussy, If I shoot, are you gonna shoot back? I don't think so, your man's the thug you ride piggy-back You're the one that passed the gat, told your man to bust that You ain't making no money, you're a broke-ass cat And once these pop, cops bring the chalk And the mop to get the rest of you off the sidewalk. what!
Writer(s): Kasseem Dean, Sean Jacobs, Christopher Rios Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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