| Yeah, I’m a special kind of nigga with mines, y’know?
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| I grind, I gets my paper, y’knahmean?
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| Ha ha ha, oh yeah
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| I’m a bonafide hustler
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| Nigga get out of line I’ll gut, ya
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| Me — I’m bout my paper it’s fuck, ya
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| If you, play games with mine
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| I come at you from behind with my nine
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| I’m a bonafide hustler
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| They say heaven’s for churchgoers and hell’s for the heathens
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| So I’mma just ball the fuck out while I’m breathin
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| Eighth after eighth, what’chu know about that fast flip?
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| Crack spots, smoky fiends sucking on that glass dick
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| Now Sham stay askin for a dime for 9
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| I’ll tell you what, I’ll hook you up just one last time
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| Customs is comin son is pumpin watch the packs dissolve
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| Singles, C-notes to food stamps, we stackin it all
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| That’s that joint what’s his name son? |
| I don’t remember
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| That Haitian nigga with the guitar that sing «Gone 'Til November»
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| I do a buck-forty in the rain, hydroplanin
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| Lamborghini Diablo, candy painted
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| Got that hydro burnin, got the burner in the stash
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| Hit the hazards, hit the AC, then it come out the dash
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| If I go in the club son and niggas start dumbing
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| Start shooting and I ain’t strapped, fuck it I’m running
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| — repeat 2X
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| I’m a bonafide hustler
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| I been out here for too long, I deserve to get a bird
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| The fiends know my name now from standin on this curb
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| I got blood on my shirt, and a handful of crack
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| A bunch of lil' niggas with dime sacks in they backpacks
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| Come and get it we got it, take a trip to the projects
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| You see the police, but we gon' sell our dope regardless
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| You niggas know me, from fillin up your heroin needles
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| I’m connected with them people who don’t speak no English
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| We ain’t scared of the roll, we just get it and go
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| You see them Tennessee tags nigga you already know
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| I don’t trust no ho, that’s how T got popped
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| He showed a bitch where his stash was, she told it to the cops
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| Me and Priest had the streets on lock
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| He’d break down the blocks, I’d open up shop around the clock
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| And I ain’t gon' stop, so soon as you come home from the pen
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| We at it again, we gettin 'em for ten my nigga
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| — repeat 2X
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| I’m a bonafide hustler
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| You know I’m a hustler ey
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| Now I’m headed down South and that’s my word
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| I’m on the Greyhound bout to move these birds
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| And if these niggas don’t let me sling
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| I’m out there robbin everything
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| Got a brand new MAC, and a P-89
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| Ya’s a hustler, man I stay on the grind
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| 9 grams of heroin, 100 grams of coke
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| 12 o’s of mushrooms, 2 pounds of smoke
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| 3 gal’s of dust juice and a tank of LSD
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| And a thousand pills of every kind of ecstasy
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| Hash, hashish, I bought a sixty-two
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| When I was younger with my crew I had them niggas sniffin glue
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| It’s 40's for the gram to them truckers in Bamas
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| And I can chef up a miracle with Arm & Hammer
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| I’m a hustler, man I supply the fiends
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| I’m a hustler, nigga I’ll sell you a dream
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| — repeat 2X
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| I’m a bonafide hustler |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Bonafide Hustler , by - Young Buck. Song from the album Straight Outta Cashville, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп