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Artist: Eightball f/ MJG
Album:  Lost
Song:   Let's Ride
Typed by: jostmatt at bluewin dot ch

You know
Sometimes you have to... use a little composure
Be playa about the situation
But this is not the time, nigga
This is not the time, nigga
It's time to ride
It's time to ride

[ VERSE 1: Eightball ]
Sometimes you have to keep it calm, play it low
Bite your bottom lip to keep from clickin on a hoe
In the streets, what the fuck, don't nobody play
From Memphis to the Bay niggas dyin all day
Over lley', sugar-coated candy cut up into bricks
Bitches that be thick be settin up them tricks
Hittin licks, rules don't apply to gettin rich
Start a business, sell a ki, pimp a bitch
Make that switch, real niggas flip shit
( ? ) shit with a bad-ass yella bitch
Eightball, translation three and a half
You're not affiliated, nigga, if you have to ask
Rich kid, a Queens nigga, a green nigga
When I say green nigga all about his cream nigga
I suggest invest in a Tec and a vest
Cause me and all my niggas gon' ride

One time for my real niggas (Let's ride)
Two times for the game, it's all in yo brain, mane
If I had a buck for every time I fucked up
I would be the big willie nigga with my feet up
But I'm in the field killin for a meal
Around fake hoes, talkin about they keepin it real
Money, murder, all in my eyes
Real niggas ride and they don't ask why

[ VERSE 2: MJG ]
Shit, I'm a real-ass nigga, who I be? MJ
Livin to handle business every goddamn day
Now who in the fuck be talkin shit behind our back?
Lookin to find 130 ways to get jacked
Tie you in a sack, see to pack you off to yonder fields
Yeah you brought some pain, I brought the rain, how this thunder feel?
I wonder will these fake-ass bitches become real? Hell nah
Don't forget about this pimpin, I tell y'all
Shit, I smell y'all fake-ass busters before I see ya
And I can tell by the scent in the air, I don't wanna meet ya
And I don't care if it's the motherfuckin holidays, I ain't gon greet ya
Just pose up and look at me like a big-old pimp, ask a feature
Nigga I smash down and take care of killers who spit trash
Suave House, No Limit soldiers, we kick ass
At the drop of thought, p-i-m-p
Type ass nigga for real, trick don't tempt me


[ VERSE 3: Eightball/MJG ]
[ 8B ]
Preacher man, could you pray for me cause I'm about to sin
My homicidal poetry killin again and again
T-Mix gave me the gun when he said he made the track
A mental picture formed when I fired up a batch
Of sticky green love, controllin what I'm speakin
Sprayin niggas, leavin niggas layin up leakin
For weeks and weepin from my grim reapin
Releasin, MJ, wake 'em up from sleepin
[ MJG ]
I'm creepin, I'm peepin in your window smokin regular
Now how you gonna leave us behind, we're ten steps ahead of the
Competition, we leave 'em wishin upon the moon
We're here with T-Mix creatin the boom that moves the room
It's that pimp shit, that hardcore shit, that shit you run from
See I ain't got time for that superstar shit, I know where I come from
Ghetto, hood-ass nigga, hard time
If you ever wanna meet me in person, I ain't hard to find