MR. 3-2 - Ride lyrics

(feat. Quest, S.K.)

[Hook:]

When you take a look, in my eyes

You can see the gangsta, gangsta

Glock forty on my side, when I ride

With one up in the chamber, chamber

A nigga trying to jump fly, and he gon die

Ain't no love, for you wankstas wankstas

I promise, I'ma ride till I die

And ain't nothing gonna change up, change up

[Quest:]

I keep a tool, tucked under my seat for foolish thugs

Wearing the blinds, running they mouth as smooth as fudge

I pierce two up in your chest, and have you oozing blood

Put the gat in his mouth, and have that nigga chewing slugs

That gats I pack, like Sadam

Garunteed, to make a nigga chest crack like the pecans

Your ass'll get passed, like batons

If you ever come around my block, asking for crumbs

I'm from the slums, 89 Dub

In the 89 hustler, watch with 89 clusters

You never see, the Mercedes nine busters

The amazing nine buster, blazing five touch ya

I got pumps, that'll knock a nigga back off

Clothesline they fo'head, take a nigga head off

Hoes give me scalps, like perms and weave

This a deadly combination, like sherm and weed bitch

[Hook]

[S.K.:]

S.K. motherfucker, I ain't fearing these niggaz

If it's war that they looking for, war is exactly what they getting

Fuck that lil' boxing, on faggot ass beats

You pussy ass bitches come see me, if you real with this beef cause I'm real with the streets

Now plexing ain't a thang for me, just make it more relevant

Be more specific, who you talking to stop acting feminine

See these bitches, really pushing they limits

Spitting fiction ass lyrics, on wax expecting they anti-gun is to take em serious

You see when niggaz is pitiful, name they guns like they gun slangers and caine

And balance they aim, with one in the cham'

And still in one, it get this dramatic

But in order to survive the first wave of tactics, they gon need more than some automatics

S.K. and quit that playing, with dick riding fanatics

We rip on niggaz like cheap fabrics, for trying to get at us

And I don't give a fuck, about reputation and status

My reason here is to neutralize the static, so look in my eyes

[Hook]

[Mr. 3-2:]

Mentally fucked up in the head, nigga for bread

I heard what niggaz said, I'm gon fill em up with lead

You scared you better pray, hope to see a better day

Start chopping up with the K, leave you dead where you lay

I stay on the Southwest, the boiling pot full of plex

Where niggaz got it bad, ready to get it off the chest

A vest won't save ya, from a deadly head shot

Pre-meditated murder, with a throw away glock

I plot and penetrate, set up masterplans

Unsolved killers, that get cash in my hand

A man I'm no kid, playing games in the street

The jungle concrete, I survive so I eat

Everyday is some'ing new, I got to adapt to

Mr. 3-2, gon step on a nigga shoe

To get what I want, so I could get better

Instead of being on lock, writing home pain letters

[Hook]