-Sylk E Fyne-East coast hustlas/
To my midwest thugstas, to my west, west coast riders/
To my up north playa partners/
To my down dirty south little hustlas/
To my world-wide showtys, it's to my international playas, international playas
-Snoop Dogg-
Mmm, I'm up early in the morning, choppin' game with Sylk-E Fyne and Bizzy Bone, i'm on the phone, tryin' to get about a zone/
My eyes red, head back, kakhis sag, blue flag, in a ninety-nine Jag with a forty four mag up in my bag/
I'm driftin', dippin', slippin', slidin' high, high way fly/
Hoes on the side of me, they act like they wanna ride with me/
Come on, get in, make it fun/
Me and y'all, two on one/
Dippin' down the bullavard, yeah, I know you like us hard/
Call me mister gangsta, gangsta, gangsta, or mister boogie-woogie/
Bitches love to give it to me (Give it to me), so baby, give it to me, 'cause I put it down G-style, L.
style/
Meanwhile, I'm shakin' fleas, makin' Gs, growin' trees, maxin' at the Pound with my homies (Homies)/
I'm sure y'all got to dig this style one y'all know me, homie/
Show me love, westside love/
More heat for the street, I thought you knew we came to fire it up
-Sylk E Fyne--
Your style/
I like your style's tendernous/
I like your style's silkiness/
I like your style's, what a mix
-Sylk E Fyne-
Hooked up with my niggas, now we's about to dip/
They say, life's a bitch, don't even trip/
I stay rawed up, ready for whatever/
Gotta beat a broad up for interferring with my cheddar/
Wherever, whenever, I'ma go get her, and see, we gon' clear to to poppin' them guns, i'ma get right with ya/
They type of chick a nigga love to have by ya side, 'cause when the shit get thick, it's like a do or die/
So fly, so stylin', and real peelish, so don't try to ride with the realest/
Big Dog, Sylk-E Fyne and Gambino/
Games like the casino, I don't love 'em, plus they don't love them hoes/
So, put a million dollar check to that/
Pop your collar and tilt your hat/
Where the real bitches at?/
Boss sir, honey child/
I got to give it to my niggas and bitches that got style
-Bizzy Bone-
Won't let no sucka vibe off me/ I don't need no clique to suck my bone (oh) and bust my (shh...) it's just so n-n-n-nasty/ Through the Ouija/ Little Eazy died of A-I-D's, you better believe it/ Believe me, I can see it/ Still sinnin' and endin' in adreniline/ Ain't you weeded?
But of course baby/ Wantin' my Mercedes/ Runaway slaves save me, what about your babies?
Krayzie got lost like Big Wish for the big fish bitch/ I done had my wig split for the bitch shit/ A new jack, parlay (Come and get it, get it) Here cops come/ Ooh, with a whop from Layzie/ Got '
Glock shot, shot, shot just like I got him/ What?
I heard Flesh was nuts/ Livin' on the bottom but I don't give a fuck/ Local niggas can sue me, my people won't keep they mouth shut/ Snoopy come hit the blunt and feel my Movie/ What?
Sylk E watch out for Diamond/ Little Mike Mike's still shinnin'/ There's the clutch, perfect timin'/ In the search for guidance/ Silently riot/ And the quiet ho was still smilin'
-Sylk-E Fyne--
Ride fo my nigga/
Even die fo my nigga/
Deal wit my nigga/
Keep it real wit my nigga/
Feel my nigga/
I'm stuck wit my nigga/
I'll buck fo my nigga/
So dont fuck wit my nigga/
Ride fo my nigga...

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