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benzino - throw them 3's (bouston ni****) lyrics

(feat. k.t., prince, smoke, luv, weirdo, o.t.)

[benzino]
benzino, unhh!
throw ’em up
up here in the 6-1-7
ray benzino
yo, killa tactics

[k.t.]
yo, why y’all n-gg-z wanna test me, i’m out your division
i got more bars and hooks than mike tyson in prison
listen, you ain’t gangsta, killa
shorty sure only boy you touched befo’ is vicks 44
hoes should squeeze fern, spread like a sick germ
have n-gg-z face down on the floor like they doin the kick worm
think something sweet with me, try me
and watch how fast i rash on n-gg-z like poison ivy
cats claim they got guns, they scared to dunk
i thump on a n-gg- back like i kick ’em between the trunk
when boston’s in the house n-gg-z head for the exit
i put the toast in they mouth like it’s breakfast

[prince]
these n-gg-z hatin my guts ’cause i’m raking in bucks
havin straight parties with nothin but b-tches with c-cups
models with manicured hands, livin my feet up
yo, let’s speed up, i leave the week later, traitor
i gotta spray ya axe up crooked, i’m doin you a favor
look at you ain’t a playa so, you’ll hate on me later
i decorate ya clothes, puttin holes through ya paper
reck those, respect the flows and catch kang-goes
professionals tell me i’m the next to blow
yeah pop, i already know, i’m just perfectin the flow
i got b-tches at my window, i get s-x to go
even though i hate nosy hoes like i’ma go-star

[smoke]
n-gg-z ask me, smoke why ya go so hard?
i’m tryin to get sucked off in the benz coup drop
tryin to have all my c’z n-gg-z shoot for the stars
my nine stars spread bullets like grey poupon
i’m tryin to ice on my wrist and on my arm
with the high beam sh-t so frigid it won’t visit
or put that n-gg- jake up out of business
you n-gg-z know fast life, n-gg-z blast nines and toss ’em in a bucket full of acid
now, if i don’t leave a n-gg- and i see you cast up in the pod’
to his motherf-cking mouth he ain’t gotta have asthma
i hold down blocks like mutombo, and check with the muzzle
got n-gg-z yellin “break!” runnin different ways
like them b-tch-n-gg-z was comin out a ‘hugem

[chorus: benzino]
my boston n-gg-z wanna ride
mattapan n-gg-z gonna ride
roxbury n-gg-z wanna ride
do you wanna ride?
tell me, do you wanna ride?
south end n-gg-z gonna ride (throw ’em up)
hyde park n-gg-z wanna ride (hangmen 3!)
jp n-gg-z gonna ride
do you wanna ride? (un-hunh)
tell me, do you wanna ride? (what!)

[luv]
the blazin spot is here, take a shot wit me
i prefer the grey guch short a hennesey
my chicks pull out your door, go and buy the bar
tellin you don’t even ride you got your own car
my fellas, who ain’t come through don’t sweat us
some of ya girls is watchin and they probably get jealous
we rock the club all out, rock the bra
comin through and throwin like michael’s glove
i show ya love, only if ya down to get dirty
my n-gg-z in the back, i don’t think y’all heard me
bring ya -ss in the front, get crunk and corrupt
grind up on a chick that you know you wanna f-ck

[weirdo]
i’ve been known the toughest n-gg-, my pockets a size bigga
inch taller, n-gg-, don’t f-ck with a true baller
we so harda, how do you think, we in impalla?
we spendin on them drinkies, my remiss a bit louder
strong power, murder dungeons with promptness
f-ckin wit doe and twist ya c-ck to ya casket
ya left on the scene, pockets ripped off ya jeans
all crunked up and lunked up, my att-tudes mean
ya know minks wantin it, franco harris runnin it
38 mag, i thump on f-ggots comin wit
my hands, they chop grands, pop cannons
sock drop dudes same spots that they standin

[o.t.]
it’s that b-st-rd child, small frame, heavy waist
with that raspy crowd reck shop everyday
n-gg-z test the blaze, bullets move steady pace
gettin hot burns, still a few on your waist
i got a fetish for cream mixed with ash and green
eyes blood shot red when i pop on the scene
i got a few n-gg-z with me and they grills is mean
drunk p-ssy in the lobby, n-gg-z shout in the beam (h-llo!)
timbaland’s be fitted, jeeps that tinted
on some 20’s, like whoa, with the gleam all in it
a n-gg- take it how they want it, son we in it to the finish
rob low and ‘zino, n-gg-z ain’t f-ckin wit it

[chorus 4x]

- benzino lyrics

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