Lyrics Believe That - Backbone

Believe That

Never let the money and these broads break us
We right here till the Lord take us
We act a fool cause the laws make us
Baby, you can’t stop the hustle'
You walk your ass 'cross my yard, get off my grass
You want to get to that money, get off yo' ass
You wants to know my name, you wants to ask
If you want to see me for something, it’s going cost ya cash
I see ya poking outcha jeans girl you acting bad
Oh, do that again with you nasty ass
I caught her coming out the mall, with 2 or 3 bags
Now shorty got her at the wood shack, throwing her back
Champagne, chicken wings, and bubble bath
Catch me somewhere outta town signing autographs
Still working street corners, straight serving them blacks
Them thirty-two fifth it for four and a half
I prefer a Chevrolet, when it’s time to mash
And I smoke the 'dro weed, a hundred dollars a sack
I put up the big numbers nigga, check the stats
And I’m on the microphone with Gipp, Slimm, and Cass
Since the trashman only run once a week
If I miss it, I’m wait 'til night and dump it up the street,
behind the Winn-Dixie
Quiver, never step or kept up his penny drawers
To get an applause, appeared to have no flaws
In the situation, no dentition, smelling good
But I ain’t gonna feel her, touching up would be too easy
Sleazy, measly, looking ugly like a person trying to sell me a dub
Fool A, see, D, and me
Trees ain’t my reason for sending your ass to grave and
Watch you say the grade is,
Burn like acid reflux, somebone’ll order up the Pheffer chickens
While I order up a smoked duck (Thank You)
Get the gas to go, at the corner sto'
Keep my hand on the nine piece
In case somebody want to disturb the peace (Always keeping my eyes open)
Cause you, can’t, stop the hustle
Well I’m known for my shine, Southside
Eyes on the prize, it’s Mr. Fly Guy
Mobbing, '68 Chevy, door vault ties
Jumped out mugging like I’m holding twenty pies
Rocked up, work on the block,
We keep it, chopped up in the spot, in the pot
Where we keep it, stocked up from the Frosty Flakes
To the chickens in the cake
If I drop it on the tool, it must be weight
Went with two and a quarter, came back with eight
Let Juke lick the plate, I re-rock the shape
Like it hot in the kitchen nigga, oven on bake
Got gorillas with banana clips, who love to go apes
Southpaw, side-strapped, known to leave yellow tape
Try and stop the hustle and crushed like grapes
Just for the taste, just for the taste
Uh-uh (Uh-huh)
Baby, you can’t stop the hustle'