Ya Style

-Sylk E Fyne-Intro
East coast hustlas/To my midwest thugstas, to my west, west coast riders/To my up north playa partners/To my down dirty south little hustlas/To my world-wide showtys, it's to my international playas, international playas

-Snoop Dogg-
Mmm, I'm up early in the morning, choppin' game with Sylk-E Fyne and Bizzy Bone, i'm on the phone, tryin' to get about a zone/My eyes red, head back, kakhis sag, blue flag, in a ninety-nine Jag with a forty four mag up in my bag/I'm driftin', dippin', slippin', slidin' high, high way fly/Hoes on the side of me, they act like they wanna ride with me/Come on, get in, make it fun/Me and y'all, two on one/Dippin' down the bullavard, yeah, I know you like us hard/Call me mister gangsta, gangsta, gangsta, or mister boogie-woogie/Bitches love to give it to me (Give it to me), so baby, give it to me, 'cause I put it down G-style, L.B.C. style/Meanwhile, I'm shakin' fleas, makin' Gs, growin' trees, maxin' at the Pound with my homies (Homies)/I'm sure y'all got to dig this style one y'all know me, homie/Show me love, westside love/More heat for the street, I thought you knew we came to fire it up

-Sylk E Fyne-Chorus-
Your style/I like your style's tendernous/I like your style's silkiness/I like your style's, what a mix

-Sylk E Fyne-
Hooked up with my niggas, now we's about to dip/They say, life's a bitch, don't even trip/I stay rawed up, ready for whatever/Gotta beat a broad up for interferring with my cheddar/Wherever, whenever, I'ma go get her, and see, we gon' clear to to poppin' them guns, i'ma get right with ya/They type of chick a nigga love to have by ya side, 'cause when the shit get thick, it's like a do or die/So fly, so stylin', and real peelish, so don't try to ride with the realest/Big Dog, Sylk-E Fyne and Gambino/Games like the casino, I don't love 'em, plus they don't love them hoes/So, put a million dollar check to that/Pop your collar and tilt your hat/Where the real bitches at?/Boss sir, honey child/I got to give it to my niggas and bitches that got style

-Chorus-

-Bizzy Bone-
Won't let no sucka vibe off me/ I don't need no clique to suck my bone (oh) and bust my (shh...) it's just so n-n-n-nasty/ Through the Ouija/ Little Eazy died of A-I-D's, you better believe it/ Believe me, I can see it/ Still sinnin' and endin' in adreniline/ Ain't you weeded? But of course baby/ Wantin' my Mercedes/ Runaway slaves save me, what about your babies? Krayzie got lost like Big Wish for the big fish bitch/ I done had my wig split for the bitch shit/ A new jack, parlay (Come and get it, get it) Here cops come/ Ooh, with a whop from Layzie/ Got 'Glock shot, shot, shot just like I got him/ What? I heard Flesh was nuts/ Livin' on the bottom but I don't give a fuck/ Local niggas can sue me, my people won't keep they mouth shut/ Snoopy come hit the blunt and feel my Movie/ What? What? Sylk E watch out for Diamond/ Little Mike Mike's still shinnin'/ There's the clutch, perfect timin'/ In the search for guidance/ Silently riot/ And the quiet ho was still smilin'

-Chorus-

-Sylk-E Fyne-Outro-
Ride fo my nigga/Even die fo my nigga/Deal wit my nigga/Keep it real wit my nigga/Feel my nigga/I'm stuck wit my nigga/I'll buck fo my nigga/So dont fuck wit my nigga/Ride fo my nigga...