| 歌曲 | Weed, Hoes, Dough - Album Version (Explicit) |
| 歌手 | Ruff Ryders |
| 歌手 | Drag |
| 歌手 | On |
| 专辑 | Ryde Or Die Vol. II |
| 作曲 : Harris, Smalls | |
| I'm pushin for the single yo, c'mon | |
| Yo lock the door, uh huh | |
| Ya heard, uh, uh | |
| C'mon, yeah | |
| Y'all know who it is, or should | |
| I say what it is | |
| Uh, uh [Verse 1] | |
| All Drag do is fuck bitches, and drain his body | |
| Kickin bitches out the bed and sleep next to a shottie | |
| A bitch'll never get me pump, | |
| I make niggas pump | |
| IV I'm the type to follow the cops wit a midget drivin me | |
| Make them think the car drivin itself, and | |
| I'm in the passenger seat | |
| Signal lights, stashbox, a package of | |
| D Drag dash, | |
| I'm happy to be | |
| On, this rap shit is like a jacket to me | |
| I wear it with cracks in my sleeves | |
| So I keep it on, don't never take my jacket off cuz my shit be gone | |
| What are you, lost your mind? | |
| It took my time to cut these dimes | |
| So I could dump drug a few minds, so don't make me bust a few nines | |
| Dip the T | |
| T in polish watch the shoe shine | |
| Slip in the | |
| Tunnel with a banger in my bootline | |
| All it takes is the finger to make a sour sit, linger | |
| Double R is hard, the rest of y'all is | |
| R & B singers | |
| CHORUS 2X: | |
| WEED That's what we smokin up | |
| HOES That's what we pokin up | |
| DOUGH That's what we foldin up | |
| That's all we know about [Verse 2] | |
| I got more bullets in my clip, than chocolate got in chip | |
| I got more bitches suckin dick, than niggas smokin niks | |
| I got more shit up in my whip, than most niggas got in cribs | |
| I got more, blocks of raw while y'all tryin to stop wars | |
| Coward nigga lock your doors | |
| I'll come through with the locksmith and pop it | |
| With the glock 4 and show y'all what a mouth's for | |
| I got black steel, blue steel, wheels, | |
| I mean wheelchair | |
| Cuz Drag is real fair, it's all real here | |
| I own more buildings on my block, than real estate, philly ave | |
| Hit ten niggas | |
| I'm tryin to see mils like | |
| Billy Gates | |
| Cuz me in | |
| Philly rollin dutches | |
| Me and Eve, stuck off the trees, got her laughin off bitches' weaves | |
| Double R, pop niggas, make niggas bleed | |
| Fiends come to me my top rock's been asleep | |
| Seven foot bouncers bout to be six feet, under me | |
| Now that's a foot left, you shouldn't have took that step | |
| CHORUS [Verse 3] | |
| I know y'all wish y'all woulda, shoulda, coulda | |
| Didda, getta, gotta, guns we cock it then pop it | |
| Make 'em holler and swallow | |
| Niggas stop it, catch it, all up in his jacket | |
| I'm not a stingy nigga, | |
| I'll let a nigga have it | |
| Hate chips that go away, lookin like white coke | |
| Sit in the sun long, come back like french toast | |
| Hair was up, now is down, eyes are black, now is brown | |
| Used to frown, now you smile, nigga must have left you now | |
| Went from bikes to the car, from the cars to the boat | |
| Went from keys to the coke, went from coke to the dope | |
| Went from cracks to the raps, went from bats to the gats | |
| Went from slums to the stats, been to | |
| London and back | |
| Me change cuz | |
| I rap, I can't do it | |
| I went from muggin y'all to payin niggas to do it | |
| It's all the same stupid | |
| I got cake on cake, cuz | |
| I went from pow to pow | |
| Wit my family, two | |
| R's, Ryde or | |
| Die CHORUS |
| zuò qǔ : Harris, Smalls | |
| I' m pushin for the single yo, c' mon | |
| Yo lock the door, uh huh | |
| Ya heard, uh, uh | |
| C' mon, yeah | |
| Y' all know who it is, or should | |
| I say what it is | |
| Uh, uh Verse 1 | |
| All Drag do is fuck bitches, and drain his body | |
| Kickin bitches out the bed and sleep next to a shottie | |
| A bitch' ll never get me pump, | |
| I make niggas pump | |
| IV I' m the type to follow the cops wit a midget drivin me | |
| Make them think the car drivin itself, and | |
| I' m in the passenger seat | |
| Signal lights, stashbox, a package of | |
| D Drag dash, | |
| I' m happy to be | |
| On, this rap shit is like a jacket to me | |
| I wear it with cracks in my sleeves | |
| So I keep it on, don' t never take my jacket off cuz my shit be gone | |
| What are you, lost your mind? | |
| It took my time to cut these dimes | |
| So I could dump drug a few minds, so don' t make me bust a few nines | |
| Dip the T | |
| T in polish watch the shoe shine | |
| Slip in the | |
| Tunnel with a banger in my bootline | |
| All it takes is the finger to make a sour sit, linger | |
| Double R is hard, the rest of y' all is | |
| R B singers | |
| CHORUS 2X: | |
| WEED That' s what we smokin up | |
| HOES That' s what we pokin up | |
| DOUGH That' s what we foldin up | |
| That' s all we know about Verse 2 | |
| I got more bullets in my clip, than chocolate got in chip | |
| I got more bitches suckin dick, than niggas smokin niks | |
| I got more shit up in my whip, than most niggas got in cribs | |
| I got more, blocks of raw while y' all tryin to stop wars | |
| Coward nigga lock your doors | |
| I' ll come through with the locksmith and pop it | |
| With the glock 4 and show y' all what a mouth' s for | |
| I got black steel, blue steel, wheels, | |
| I mean wheelchair | |
| Cuz Drag is real fair, it' s all real here | |
| I own more buildings on my block, than real estate, philly ave | |
| Hit ten niggas | |
| I' m tryin to see mils like | |
| Billy Gates | |
| Cuz me in | |
| Philly rollin dutches | |
| Me and Eve, stuck off the trees, got her laughin off bitches' weaves | |
| Double R, pop niggas, make niggas bleed | |
| Fiends come to me my top rock' s been asleep | |
| Seven foot bouncers bout to be six feet, under me | |
| Now that' s a foot left, you shouldn' t have took that step | |
| CHORUS Verse 3 | |
| I know y' all wish y' all woulda, shoulda, coulda | |
| Didda, getta, gotta, guns we cock it then pop it | |
| Make ' em holler and swallow | |
| Niggas stop it, catch it, all up in his jacket | |
| I' m not a stingy nigga, | |
| I' ll let a nigga have it | |
| Hate chips that go away, lookin like white coke | |
| Sit in the sun long, come back like french toast | |
| Hair was up, now is down, eyes are black, now is brown | |
| Used to frown, now you smile, nigga must have left you now | |
| Went from bikes to the car, from the cars to the boat | |
| Went from keys to the coke, went from coke to the dope | |
| Went from cracks to the raps, went from bats to the gats | |
| Went from slums to the stats, been to | |
| London and back | |
| Me change cuz | |
| I rap, I can' t do it | |
| I went from muggin y' all to payin niggas to do it | |
| It' s all the same stupid | |
| I got cake on cake, cuz | |
| I went from pow to pow | |
| Wit my family, two | |
| R' s, Ryde or | |
| Die CHORUS |