Ryder

[Verse 1: Ghetts] Click clack on ‘em Push your wig back on ‘em Anybody that has ever let a .45 knows about the kick back on ‘em (Buck I!) I was in a gun range…(When?) On Sunday Everyone says Nobody ain't ever this accurate! Marksman! Don’t believe me go and ask them Hey you cheeky little bastard You better really mind who you’re bargin’ Yo blud Oh you think you’re …hold up Wait there, I zoom in like a bludclart close up Man better know when I come around I got a shank on me or I got something else I’m like, Say that again?... That’s not what you said, you said something else You ain't nothing that, I ain't ever come across Lick him with the buckle of the belt! Why should I be shook? He ain't done fuckin’ with himself I have, that’s why I don’t rate my man Has he really got something in his side bag? He just posing, side man Just walked to my nigga Kyze Said he don’t know this yout Me neither Looks like he forgotten who I am Here’s what comes with the reminder [Hook: Ghetts](X2) R6, two ryders, bomb blasting You, target, head-top, caskets Okay, bastards, questions, no answers Floor him, carpet, haunting, darkness [Verse 2: Kyze] Just got the words from Ghetts Said there’s a couple nerds on the set I said let me turn on the tech Cos I’m from the era where you learn to respect Nah I ain't talkin’ ‘bout your olders I’m talkin’ ‘bout the real deep rollers I’m talkin’ ‘bout the shotgun loaders Ryder’s a riddim held the ends on its shoulders Cos while you was nice on the fence I was right in the trench with a 9 or a 10 All this, at my own expense Thinkin’ that this don’t make sense Look at all the dough in the ends All these ballers around and they don’t buy skengs Like dem man And they don’t pay rent That’s why I walk around with a face of intent That’s why I had to flip out on ‘em Jump out the whip and pull the stick out on ‘em No talking, no lip out on them I eat man’s melon, then spit the pip out on ‘em Till they say I ain't normal again Cos a couple O.G’s couldn’t warn me again Look, my little old school friend Suck your dad, I ain't touring again See if you call me that, I might fly one at you You know it's not love if I ain't smiling at you Stop friending man's friends and trying (that move) Don’t fault me for him I ain't tryin’ that yout Fuck that yout I’ve had enough of him Back out the ting, bullets smother him A whole piece crew come and cover him 38 spinning, lookin’ like its buffering [Hook](X2)