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 Yeah [ 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 [ CHORUS: MJG ] 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 [ CHORUS: MJG ] [ 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 [ CHORUS: MJG ]