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(feat. Billy Cook) [Billy Cook:] Ooooh, yeeeeah I'm gon ride, we holding it down 3-2, and your boy Billy Cook Superstar [Mr. 3-2:] Tell me, why somebody always hating on mine With my name in they mouth, but can't stop my grind I'ma shine regardless, counting big faces Black t-shirt, with some blue shoe laces Throwing up the West, where it's best and my folk And yeah that's right, I'm Blazy Calumo Some hoe type niggaz, don't think that's real But you hoe type niggaz, don't pay my bills Ride on blue, with glassy 3's Dropping the top, it's the G-O-V Talk down on me, but you play with your nose And tricking with them hoes, behind closed do's I post up, everyday Hit stangs on thangs, and get my pay Say what you wanna, I'ma get my bread Put it all in your face, till the day that I'm dead [Hook: Billy Cook] Letras de cancionesI'm gon ride, we holding it down For the Southside Hustle up in these streets, coming up on the Southside I'm gon ride, forever hold it down Everyday, I grind Steady chasing paper, coming up on the Southside [Mr. 3-2:] Yeah I sip coedine, and wreck 16's But still ain't got my face, on a video screen Still a dream, to go platinum on wax While I, sit back and watch the whack acts I stack, grind and mash in these streets Keep playing the game, cause if I don't I won't eat That's deep, cause when you sleep you fall off What it weigh what it cost, I can't take no loss Big Boss, calling the shots to be made Love life be loyal, and fuck what niggaz say Better days, is round the corner I see it Brother of the struggle, my nigga I G-D it Six popping, broads be bopping Moves I make, everybody be watching No stopping, I'ma get it all in the end Handle mine with finesse, that's how I'm gon win No friends, cause they ain't got love for 3 Just a whole lot of plex, and animosity Quit watching me, and get some'ing to play with And when you see me in the streets, hoe quit riding dick [Hook] [Mr. 3-2:] Niggaz said I was through, but I still get cash I told you motherfucker, I'ma have the last laugh Raw gutter, sitting on butter 20 inch cutters, and I still don't love em Good for nothing hoe, if she ain't getting bread I pimp em out they panties, have em sucking on a head Off X having sex, in the hallway Pimping Chris run through they purse, all damn day Selling dreams, I could sell water to a whale While I'm loading up work, on a triple beam scale Fuck jail, I ain't going back no mo' As I stomp two times, on my hardwood flo' I know, the Lord got a heaven for a G So I talk to him every night, 'fore I go to sleep These streets and these drugs, will kill a nigga quick So you better take it slow, I hold the 4-5th No shit, it's crazy trying to survive Sitting in the turning lane, in a clean ass ride Southside, I'ma hold it down for Screw And bitch kiss my ass, that's from Mr. 3-2 [Hook] From Letras Mania