Ruff Ryders: My name is kiss

[Verse 1]Yo, yo, I know niggas wit honor and willThat'll still crush the blow up and then pass they mama the billSo I'ma always be able to burn my stripCuz my bags be stuffed and I burn my tipsAnd it aint no tellin what the snub'll doSo when y'all go and cop S's cop one for your mother tooAnd I'm way better than them other dudesBut I'm stuck wit, what I'm stuck witCuz I don't suck dickSat with the plays and I stood with the culturesAnd I'ma always be in the hood like roachesFlow is ferocious, dough is ferociousTwo guns by each lung with no holstersAnd I control all the fishscale in the cityAnd still make your first week sales look prettyI come through, all you hear is chip in the mufflerAnd you could ask anybody if the Kiss is a hustlerCHORUS:Styles: He's a hustlerJadakiss: I hustle anywhere, any town, any borough, any strip, uhS: He's a gamblerJ: I always hold it down, gettin bankroll in 4, 5, 6 in tripsS: He's a gangsterJ: I always make the paper and the FBI got me on they list, that's whyS: He's a Ruff Ryder nigga, Ryde or Die niggaJ: By the way, did I tell you that my name is Kiss?[Verse 2]And I don't understand how a broke nigga could chillWhen a two liter'll dust you so get you a milYes I got loose ends, poppin out the sunroof of the blue MI'm like Lou SimsAnd I'ma make sure they hit you wit both shottiesI think this summer's gon be the most bodiesYou never ask a nigga in jail if he chillinJust make sure you make all the sales in the buildingCuz now niggas think it's all right to tellAnd you could put out some garbage and it might could sellAlotta niggas be petty and sheistBut that's only til you treat 'em like a video and edit they lifeThis is a threat, when I talk you listen to deathAnd if I run out of money then my wrist is a betAnd the streets said they wanted more KissUp north niggas pop me in, and do a hundred more dipsCHORUS[Verse 3]Yo, whether it's dope money or rap money, gamble the shitTrey pounds of Mauseburgs, handle the shitGot too big for the city, cops brought in the fedsSo we moved across the map and brought in the breadNiggas chill for a month and a half, no ruckusGot the pictures of baggers and all of the gun bustersAnd you know how it go, cuz it rarely'll changeEverybody got a license and a alias nameWe don't smoke when we hustle and none of us talkBack to back til we home, we can front in New YorkCuz some of us is runnin from courtSmokin weed, mumblin thoughtsTryin to stay humble for shortsWe could do this the mob way and kiss you on both cheeksOr do it the hard way and shoot through your gold teethStand on any block, play cee-lo and crapsAnd break niggas for they pack money, then give it back, uhCHORUS 2X