Lyrics:
police time, please
That's all for now"
And as PC Plod is leaving
Her family sees him
They creep in the ward silently seething
Benaz can't control her
feeling like I hid
Three point two but I just did it for the kids
More guns than a pawn shop,
Got my whole arm rocked.
Keep the seven sexty double
to go fill em in, listen
Man, y’all still the same
Y’all, y’all ain’t finna change, prove me wrong
Do something different
Y’all scared, y’all dip
Y’all
and a yacht, two million in gold
Because rap is the game that I control.
I'm like Shakespeare, I'm a pioneer
Because I made rap somethin' people wanted
[Ol` Dirty Bastard]
C`mon, fuck that shit
{*panting hard seven times*}
Yo bitches out there, a-throw your hands in the air
To my niggaz out there
(off flats), you got to spend money to make money (5 thousands, nigga, I say put it on)
Glo Gang, y'all know how we rocking, man (Rest in peace Big Glo)
flogged and mocked
And the cock crowed they deceived him
Son of Jah, Peter never believed him
He had his joy, joy
(7) Over
Overtaken by desolution
He
Hustle hard get ya hustle on, go 'head
Get ya hustle on, y'all go 'head
Late night hustling
Im caught up in the hustle
Three am - hustling hours
You
‘Bass’ - written and performed by Collin Gibson and Rudy ‘Shred’ Covington, additional vocals by Damien Koen
CHORUS X6
Bass in a nigga face - Mello
intelligence
A young man handle the game like Merill Lynch
3 a.m. breathing, leaning in gates
I mean creaming,
Selling these cakes in slabs like Lanolakes
rite aid it was
Isaiah
License plate seven four A nine six four P seven
He lives on general mill lane in house number one nine four three
He is a six
Yeah
And you see them over there
Ooh
Man, three of them, three of us, right
Here we go
Man, let's go and make a move
Y'all already know I'm on it
The game done got cold man
And I ain't talking Gary's name
I'm a H.U.S.T.L.A
I'm on the grind, on the regular
I hustle hard whether I'm in the Yo
Or up in
feel some pain
My unc ain't no Peter Parker, but fell in love with Mary Jane
Ima make some shit shake like the dreads on top of Wayne
We going rush his
On my Rick James behavior
Life is school for the soul and I'm in life seven already
Life's simple but heavy, incomprehensible shit
Everything from sexy
Been stacking like frito lay, two duffel bags and a briefcase
Trying to count it by hand we be thumbing through them bands in the H
In the H, run it
door to mine
Seven days a week at 6 A.M. she gets her five miles in
All the neighborhood men pretend to get their paper
When she goes running by
to control the speed
Put one up in the air, the cops just stared
Waved my hands out the roof like I just ain't care
Got to the tele and I slid through the door
Twenty-four seven nigga three six five
Twenty-four seven nigga three six five
Drown yo ass in hell, matter fact take a dive
Don't nobody want you, don't nobody
playing manhunt and ran
Up in your place
And until they build a case
They ain't gon' quit
And by the time you get touched
They'll be saying "This is it"
gettin' hot
So how the fuck am I supposed to make a knot?
Police looking at niggas through a microscope
In L.A. everybody and they momma sell dope
stand before you in this booth a walking dead man
Blank stare dead pan look at my face as I gaze into space
As I wait to be scooped up in that van
was a very valiant insect
And that's why the technique, needs a brave man
And a strong one, who isn't afraid of birds
[Bobby Digital]
to (Who runs this?)
All my powerful women working nine to five
Two, three jobs just to survive
All my powerful women
No man at home
Raising all
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