(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]