• Lyrics: play full screen play karaoke
• What's Wrong - Rydah J. Klyde
• Struggle - Rydah J. Klyde
• Fly Gangsta - Rydah J. Klyde

[Intro: Rappin' 4-Tay (E-40)]
Uh, (you tell me)
[Chorus: Rappin' 4-Tay, E-40]
[Rappin' 4-Tay]
Holler at a player though
40 Water, what's wrong wit the game though?
I don't know
[E-40]
Holler at a player though
4-Tay, what's wrong wit the game though?
I don't know
[Rappin' 4-Tay]
I keeps my distance from haters cause I'm quick to flash
It irritates me with a passion, I tap that ass
Be quick to blast, the game just ain't the same no more
You doing too much, pump your brakes, slow your roll
Fuckin' up the hustle with the streets and shit
It's too much legal tender on my agenda to bite our fame
But if you play me, I gots no choice to leave you in check
They playing with a full deck, you can get the breakfast, say thanks
[E-40]
See I'm a business man with a set of big balls
Marketing meetings and, uh, got Frisco
Just ain't your work for a living (uh huh)
They got hit, what the fuck?, you think I been got shit?, it ain't easy
Everyday now walk through the streets
A nigga can't even sit down with his family
And be straight and have a decent dinner
Without a motherfucker yelling, "Weeblelations"
"What I got to do to get you in my compilations?" (compilations)
So I study what I do, the shit for you for free (for free)
I used to do that to a nigga when I was seventeen (uh, uh)
[Chorus]
[Rappin' 4-Tay]
What's the world comin' to when niggaz talk down for funds
I'm Rappin' 4-Tay it don't make me nones
Popularity don't mean that much
Cause if it don't make dollars I don't really give a fuck
Jockin' all up under my name but you don't even know me
Got me fucked up with one of them suckers
One of your so called homies
Yo that's the shit that'll cause the magnum clip to bring the pain
When niggaz go against the grain
40 Water what's wrong with the game?
[E-40]
I'm ten years strong in this shit, if I was up to heart
My nigga got dick, her is his, by selling chicks in front of his car
Got a crib with 9,000 square, Christine and Marsha, will you just imagine?
Big ass improving for Maximus, big ass, let's fetch it
I seen it in my dream when I was nine years old
My Momma always told me to achieve my goal
Keep a cool bid and, uh, respect a dollar
Never get too greedy for the money and power
[Chorus]
[E-40]
The reason I carry glocks, 26 on my side of my hip
Cause I ain't dumping now (dumping now), thinking of now a days
They act like you owe something (something)
Talking about, "40, show me some love!, (show me some love!)"
Because I got a, a despot I'm my blood
Niggaz want to knock ME
Cause I don't blossom like a sunflower SEED
Surrounded by promises, you said that you keeps me smoking big WEED
Drinking while sipping Ale (sipping Ale) yes INDEED
Born and raised in Vallejo (eeehhhh!)
[Rappin' 4-Tay]
The game done got solid brokers
So all my true player partners, y'all just stay focused
And watch them haters cause they plots on a daily basis
Hustlers, servants, traders that caught so many dope cases
And but I want the quickness if them G's is right
If that game was tight
Ballers had get back
Wasn't no such thing as three strikes
No sense in fuckin' mines off
But I'm off parole and shit
Niggaz get to running off at the mouth
Just like a snitch, sound like a bitch
BIAAAAATCH
[Chorus x2]
[E-40]
What's wrong wit the game?
Can't get caught off with the game
Just get my chips and get paid
Holler at a player though
4-Tay, what's wrong wit the game though?
Holler at a player though
Holler at a player though
4-Tay, what's wrong wit the game though?

[Fed-X]
You couldn't fuck wit me
If we was runnin' trains together
Heard you keep your heat under your pillow
OK whatever, you's the victim
In and out of jail was me
Frontin' drugs to thugs
So who else could it be?
I let the nine fetch ya
Bitch nigga, you catch the stretcher
I'm all about perfection
I run more blocks than you ran
When they was dumpin' you was actin' like a scared man
I boosted up my prices
Like the price of power
Or the cost of gas
We get money by the hour
Move fork on a hustla
I was raised that way
Young thugs on the block
Been out there all day
Catch me hustlin' in the rain feelin' pain that way
[chorus x2]
You gotta hustle just to bet the struggle, I know
You gotta bust down doors
Go and get it for doe
Don't nobody wanna see you live
You know why?
Cuz everybody wanna see you die
And that's real
[Fed-X]
All the way in New York
Cali on my plates
Funk Master Flex hit the tunnel for a day
Giving depth to them big stack holders
Dirty money folders pushin' valves on the corner
Cracks under they tongue
Garlic's on they shelves
Bodies on they guns
Chickens in the business
Celebrate when they done
Through the light like it's green
In my Benz, roadies fillin' my team
Hittin' weed that's the nation off my jeans
California dream, and I'm livin' it up
Up in Vegas at the magic show blowin' a buck
Spittin' more in niggaz' face
Then the police done laced
I'm a boss at the top of the list
Come fuck wit me
Drug indictment, how could it be
Got runner's pushin' crack
Got runner's pushin' ? than me
[chorus x2]
[Fed-X]
400 G's in a duffle bag
How would you approach it?
Wit your demo wit your gun out
Barrel already smokin'
Never A-rab wit this rap cat down on the floor
Or push it off in the North Star on highway 4
Reckless drivin'
A grown man locked in the trunk
Fed him a sock for lunch
While hog tying him up
Yeah you know
The type a shit that happens in the ghetto
Heavy metal get pierced if you ain't careful
And that's real
I seen illest shit go down
Like being locked in a box
Buried under the ground
We do it mob style
And I swear that on my kids
If you come searchin' for clues and get did

[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