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This song is by Mr. 3-2 and appears on the album A Bad Azz Mixtape: V (2005).

(Feat. Cro$$, D.Z.)

What's up with you girl, (what's up daddy
What's up with you), we gon do this or what
(Can you handle this, do you think you can handle this)
You going hard as fuck, (I don't think you ready)
Some shit what to do, (you got to do this)
Get your ass in girl, (can you handle this)
Yeah that's what's up let's do it, (let's go baby)

Mr. 3-2:
I'm in the zone on Patrone, back in this bar
Say a dude up in here, but I really don't bar
Going hard, barely on my ninth of tenth shot
Anybody got problems, meet me in the parking lot
No doubt, me and my thugs in here deep
Don't bump into me, or step on my feet
DJ, playing my favorite song
So I start getting crunk, on the microphone
It's on, lil' mama's taking it off
Shaking they thang, to bone the Big Boss
Last call, for alcohol
Only thing I wanna get into, is them drawas
Y'all, better not play with me
Just hit the exit do', with the G-O-V
See every week, it go down at the club
Broads showing love, table dance for a thug

It go down, for real at the after set
Baby girl going hard, and we just met
Have a couple drinks, and she don't know my name
Every weekend, we could do it again

36 karats on shine, when I fold up in the club
Lil' mamas on dick, and they all showing me love
'Cause I'ma cut her up, the motherfucking average
In the streets a known savage, my lifestyle is lavish
In the V.I.P. sipping Remmy, at the bar
Surrounded by sugar brown, and yellow bone stars
And it's understood, that they all wanna fuck
Let's hit the parking lot, for a little head in the truck
Then it's back to spot, pop a lil' scooby snack
Put the X in her life, and see how that hoe act
I'm a mack slash P-I-M-P, to the heart
If you ain't talking 'bout nothing, then bitch don't even start
The conversating, about the moves that I'm making
D.Z., yes I believe in hoe breaking
Your bitch I may be taking, if she give me the sign
Don't hate the playa hate the game, and keep her ass in line nigga

The weekend's here, freaks come out at night
Tre-Deuce in the Harley, I pull up on my bike
We at the after H, in the parking lot
I'm staying strapped, I know that the sharks are out
Fall up in the club, strippers taking it off
To keep the scrilla, for Cro$$ no cost
So Cro$$ gon floss, peep the scene broads acting a fool
They all choose, but the three fuck rule got me rude
I'm clean as a whistle, swift with the pistol
Dimes all over me, trying to make it official
Hey little pretty, you leaving with me
Brown Texas scrilla boy, M-D-C
Five shots of Henny, got her feeling woozy
At the bar going hard, brights on ice on
Slip out the exit window, was no lights on
'Cause be tripping, realize that his wife gone
I get my pipe on, while she get her dyke on
X'd out won't stop, that's what I'm tal'n bout
She a fool with it, she a fool with it
X'd out won't stop, that's what I'm tal'n bout

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