| My first name is Smith, my last name is Wesson,
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| but in yo hood I’m known as 357,
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| have yo neighborhood punk quick to shoot a man,
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| an have Clark Kent thinkin that he’s superman,
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| wit six in the cylinders chambers, I’m the cup of curs that got ya feelin like the ultimate banger,
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| but some fools misuse my abilities, doin drive-by shootin everything
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| they see,
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| I’m quick to cap it in yo life if you tempt me,
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| playin Russian ruelet but is the cylinder empty,
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| fully loaded fool, you shouldn’t have been trippin,
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| then you wouldn’t be holdin yo head in yo hands to keep yo brains from
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| drippin,
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| I’m a lethal weapon registered in everythang,
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| used by the police, dope dealers an yo local gang,
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| I’m the hardest mutha fucka alive, right in front of yo eyes, kill any
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| man wit the quickness now who the fuck am I?
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| I’m Mr. Tre-five-seven, quick to peel a cap,
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| I’m yo friend to the end, you know I got yo back,
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| I’m known to every trigga finga so everytime you squeeze,
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| I’m kick out so much heat I’m bringin he-man to his knees,
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| I’m Mr. Tre-five-seven, fool you know me,
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| I’m the reason why yo punk ass got locked up for that murder bee,
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| cuz after all I’m only a gun, an a gun ain’t got no love,
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| remember that when you fill me up wit them hollow point slugs.
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| Verse 2-(C-BO)
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| Mr. Tre-five-seven, I send that ass to heaven,
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| quick to murder mutha fuckaz, an quick to pull 211's,
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| I turn a big bad nigga into a cowardly lion,
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| an if he’s thinkin about jackin, boy I’ll keep his ass from tryin,
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| see I don’t give a fuck, pull the trigga an I’ll buck,
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| when you rollin wit tre-five, fool, whoever steps is suicide,
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| I never been a snitch, but if you do some crazy shit,
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| you besta have a hankerchief to wipe the finger prints off yo grip,
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| cuz if you down I’m down, fool, it ain’t no half-steppin,
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| I’m a leathal weapon, juss point me in his direction,
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| an ain’t no tellin who I’ll hit so you niggaz better run,
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| I’m Mr. Tre-five-seven, that’s any kind of killaz gun.
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| Verse 3-(C-BO)
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| No one can hang, I’m the downest on this earth,
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| no regrets, no sorrows, no remorse when I burst,
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| I hang on the side of your task force an the waist of yo neighborhood
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| killaz,
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| might catch me up under the seat, or ridin in the lap of yo dope dealaz,
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| I’m known to robbin banks, jewlery stores, an 7−11's,
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| some use me for protection, an some use me for 1−8-7's,
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| it’s best to call the police if you think you see me comin,
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| but whatever you don’t run cuz you might tempt me to start gunnin,
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| I kill at will, quick to spill guts when I bust,
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| an when a habit drops, you mutha fuckaz can’t touch,
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| mo deadlier than a pitbull, when you locked up in my sight,
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| so stay up outta my path, an beware because I bite. |