RYDAH J. KLYDE

RYDAH J. KLYDE - Fly Gangsta lyrics

rate me

(feat. Yukmouth)

[Yukmouth]

Je je jeah, nigga! ugh

It's a Mob Figa event

My nigga J. Klyde

Ya bitches

Ho up , or blow up ya stank bitch

Jeah

Yukmouth in the mutha fuckin' house ya hoes, SHEES!

Jeah

Pop ya colla and ya chain nigga

What! What! Jeah!

[Yukmouth]

We getting' it, the magnificent

20 inchin' it, conceded

Only in the model bitch I'm interested

Weeded

Splif after splif we smoke infinite

Blingin'

Chained to my dick and shit

Pop Crys ridiculous

Flow like terrific

Rippin' it, spittin' it

Fuck all your written shit

Here's your death certificate

Yuk fucks 'em up on some different shit

Make bitches shave from they tits to they clitoris

Make the innocent college bitch eat the licorice

Crash the Jag [AHHHH!]

Next day flip a bigga six

King of Oakland but not on no Jigga shit

This Regime life bitch niggaz witness this

Oakland to Pittsburg smokin' herb

In mink coats and furs

Niggaz slang hydro and birds

In Cali fuckin' video hoes and center folds

But still retire rappers like Arsenio Shows nigga

[Chorus: Rydah J. Klyde]

Fly gangsta how you get so fly?

Them other birds go hard when they try

They look sloppy what is it a carbon copy?

You the nigga boy I ain't gon' lie

Coochie in Gucci, Channelle

Louie and oouie

Got diamonds in his mouth

I stared when he spoke to me

He probably buying cake

Trynna get me to buy his type

He fly away I hope he come back to me

Fly Gangsta!

[Rydah J. Klyde]

Yo I'mma let the hatters do them

My neck and wrist I draped it

Untouchable, M-O-B Figa affiliated

Or how I feel to make it out the roughest of times

Grandma raised me and my cousin, three sisters I grind

Some years later

She at the school I had no shine

And half the time the clothes wasn't even mine

But in do time

Junior high, '89

Me and Brittle started to grind

See who got free waps from E-Y-T Swann had bomb

He scored from Fat Rat

Early 90's grimy boy we at that

My pockets got the mumps

For real work off in my backpack

Cross cords and silk shirts got me missin' every class

Now she flirtin'

Winkin' the lashes

I'm too high to catch a pass

I'm getting' money bitch [what]

I ain't got time

Shit unless she trynna grind for a fly gangsta in his prime

Keep ya eye on me

And quarter ounces ridin' from my project buildin'

I'm livin' grimy lookin' like a million

Watch me

[Chorus]

[Rydah J. Klyde]

Now I'm slidin' through the night

In the same shoes I could have died in

A hundred times count my blessin's

Pick my nine see the times change

In sub stations in the housin'

I'm in my [?] bumpin' 11/5 browsin'

With thousands in rubber bands

It's dirty money from the gutter man

The block is crowded gettin' cluttered man

Who is this mutha fucka Gem?

You know him?

He housin' high speed

Hittin' gates

Scuffin' the shit out my Nike's

Or maybe in my zone at home writin'

I got a plan to blow

Stick up money and grams is movin' slow

I spread my wings

Got my weight up

Now the hatters they know

Cuz when a nigga havin' paper it show

Birds of the same feather fly together

We make a nigga wanna have his cheddar

Who got ya gritting in the coldest weather?

You goin' hard and you gettin' better

The F-L-Y to the seventh letter

In any weather

I'm Fly Gangsta

Bitch!

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