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Ghostface Killah - K.b. ridin' lyrics

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K.b. ridin' by Ghostface Killah

[Intro: Ghostface Killah (RZA) {Method Man}]
Word (These mothaf**kin' niggaz, man)
Yeah, I hear that, you got that sh*t, right?
(Yeah, I got it) Lemme hear it
(I'ma two-way Sunn back right now
Next time she show up right on time for this sh*t)
Word, no doubt
(Better stop smokin' on that sh*t)
f**k that, hey, don't do it with him
Yo yeah, lemme get that mothaf**ka's sayin' on this, nigga
(Yeah, niggaz be buggin' in here
Nigga don't speak no f**kin' English, word?)
You get me everything? (I got you a cheese joint)
{Diamond buscuits, mothaf**ka!}
[Break: Method Man (RZA) {Prodical}]
Now let's see, we don't get down like that
See, he holds his own, haha, he holds his own
Haha, he holds his own (Bank!)
(John Blizzy) {Straight like that}
He holdin' twenty on this
(Ghost Deini) {Uh-huh! Yeah!}
(ShaCronz) {The invincible, baby)
Bad boys (Suga Bang) {It's like that!}
[Method Man (Prodical)]
Spontaneous combustion got niggaz lustin'
f**kin' with this head bustin' track spanker
Decaffinator, crab sinker, twenty-five
Tryin' to live to see my forty acher, before I die
Immaculate conceptions like loaded weapons
Shootin' up ya rap session in mere seconds (Bluh! Bluh!)
Ya whole style is undressin'
Try to hide yaself behind the R&B section
And got spotted, f**kin' with them fake artists who make garbage
Now ya like a human target with no direction
And no protection, rap nigga assed out and no question
Dead and buried, we holdin' like the military
f**k Dog sh*t, hide-out beats and hot cherries
On virgin mic's, style very cri-Tical
By any means necessary, mad lyr-ical
The Ghostrider, want vengeance on you style biters
Ya whole sect got you gassed 'til I sparked the lighter
And burnt that ass like Dhalsim in Street Fighter
I play the shadows, scopin' out you lime lighters and Desperados
[Chorus: Suga Bang Bang (RZA) {Prodical}]
Killa Beez is ridin' East to West, baby
See our twenties spinnin' on our trucks, baby
Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby
Come on, come on
[Interlude: RZA {Prodical}]
{Baby cuz It's Not a Game}
You see them mothaf**kin' twenty-inch chromes spinnin'?
{Rocked out, baby, ice hangin'}
[Ghostface Killah (RZA)]
Bailed out from drugs, almost retired from bubblin'
Hammers was the guns under the rug, lift off my publishin'
Jet to Miami, I chuggle-lug the beat
Fiends beepin' me, I erase and delete (Come on)
Surrounded my palm trees and sound-proof condos
Tryin' out Spanish foods, Roberto's bangin' bongos
Do whatever, crackin' down weather, it means nice
Walkin' down the strip, these fat niggaz broke the ice
Drive it in a host, the trucks, the gate's wide open
A square box fell out, I'm hopin' it be coke and
I snatched it, dipped into a parkin' lot and wrapped it
See diamonds, pearls, rubies, gems, covered with acid
Heavens to mega-troid, infants'll know I'm paranoid
What she goes through, I'm on a next flight to St. Croix
Sneaker boy and Genius, I heard he struck oil
Him and Masta Killa own Fox and mad loyal
[Chorus - last two lines only]
Diamonds, Cubans hangin' from our neck, baby
Come on, come on
[Interlude: RZA {Prodical}]
{The finest, baby, the finest}
(You see them Linx hangin'?)
Yo, yo
You know I rarely fight, I keep heat plus I'm very nice
I run with two-eighties on me like Jerry Rice
I f**k with many birds, not the canary type
I've seen a lot of happy days and scary nights
My click hotter than fish grease, kids be diss-free
Most of these labels can't handle this heat
I love new twat, scr*p ho's on a few blocks
When my hate grows I let the tools pop
A lot of these rap niggaz be fast to plea
Raw cook up, Got the Hook-Up like Master P
F.G., we don't talk, nigga, fast to squeeze
Walk up and let a hundred shots crash ya V
The first to pull out, the first to body somethin'
I got all the heat all the shorties in ya lobby pumpin'
Them dudes you standin' with probably frontin'
Killa Bee Gang got that sh*t that keep ya hottie jumpin'
[Chorus 2X]
[Interlude: RZA {Prodical}]
{Straight like that, baby, it's nuttin' less, K.B., baby
Don't forget it, C.C.F.}
You see the sh*ts spinnin'?
Come on, nigga! {Clamp on, baby} Come on!
Yo, yo, tell them niggaz, son
What? What?
You see the sh*ts spinnin'? {Yeah}
sh*t hangin', son, they hangin' {Better catch it}
Come on! Come on!
[Outro: Prodical (RZA)]
Straight gangsta
(Yo, you've just been experiencin'
Wu-Tang Killa Beez - The Sting)
Explosive, baby, comin' at you
(Y'all mothaf**kas know..
The next chamber's the mothaf**kin' weather)
Look out for the Stingers, baby

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