| [Beanie Sigel
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| Court casin.
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| Third felony facin
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| No probation
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| My heart racin like a blunt lacin
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| Hennessy and malt liquor chasin
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| My gemstar scarrin niggas faces
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| For a pound of trey eight and.
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| I throw bullets like Dallas Troy Aikman
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| The callous on my index stay achin
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| Niggas stay hatin
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| Got me late night pacin
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| I’m tight boot lacin
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| Mask on like I’m Jason
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| Shoot up shit like Larry Davis
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| You play the pulpit like Pastor Mason
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| Turn cheek like Martin Luther
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| I’m like Oswald sharp-shootin
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| Got my eyes on my mark in the dark shootin
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| Beam illuminate the target movin
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| Get your organs ruined
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| Move out like SWAT move in
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| Got them niggas on the back-block rootin
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| For the bad guy.
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| Playground legend like Sadait (?)
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| P. Kirkland… My MP state workin
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| Shootin-arm stay jerkin
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| My Nextel stay chripin
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| Can’t answer cause the feds lurkin
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| Its like we catchin cancer on purpose
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| Back to back chain smoking, nicotine feinin
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| Conversation with demons when I’m dreamin
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| Manic-depressive
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| Like the man upstairs tryin to pass me a lesson
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| But I can’t catch it
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| The game under break the pressure
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| They miss my presence
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| We still not promised tomorrow
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| Takin the bitter with the sweet up in these cold ass streets
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| We got lifestyles through our scars
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| We ride hard til our numbers get called
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| The lifestyle of a hustler…
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| I’m feelin like deaths in the air
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| Got me back to back buckin my squares
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| But I ain’t bitchin I ain’t scared
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| I ain’t budgin, in fact the thrill alone turns me on
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| Got me smiling, laughin… Clutchin
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| My toast and confrontin mother fuckers
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| Cock-a-roaches will not catch me laughin
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| Skinny and slim fram y’all get it the same
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| Cool niggas that’ll spin out they waves
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| Grimey niggas that’ll spin to they graves
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| Justifyin my foul ways
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| I got kids to raise
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| But motherfuckers rather see me sprayed
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| Than to see me pair (fucker)
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| Or see me on the front page like Sig
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| Or stay rolled DC with B. Sig
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| You bitch niggas stay PC when y’all see me
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| Until the day that they
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| Fit me in the grave and the city wreak of me
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| We got the city under siege
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| S-P or R-O-C
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| Poverty is a movie starrin me
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| Ride with no play the passenger seat
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| So y’all can see how my life so real
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| So y’all can see how my life so ill
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| (I came to chill.)
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| Tales of a hustler that’s me in the flesh
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| Got a Jag and a Caddy sellin dimes of the step
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| Niggas wanna take my block I had to earn my respect
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| So I put his cerebellum on his grandma’s steps
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| You know Oschino he’ll probly kill
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| Got the soul of Huey Newton nigga Bobby Seale
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| Nigga prolly take the stand he’ll prolly squeal
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| But I got four lawyers I ain’t takin the deal (Nigga)
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| We could strap without scrap or put the semi in it
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| Gun fully loaded like the Chrysler with the hemmy in it
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| I keep it ghetto like a 40 with the Henny in it
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| Went to school broke loafers on no pennies in it
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| Stood the coldest winter with the bummiest coat
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| Need food need shoes sold dummies of soap
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| Got tired of bein broke man life was a bitch
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| They bring you flowers when you dead but no soup while you sick
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| So I switched my whole picture get involved with the bricks
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| Not the ones made of semen but the ones who sniffs
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| Tales of hustler, niggas come for your jugular
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| If you sell one bag to they mother fuckin customers
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| State P we got the city on smash
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| Got every boulevard every street every ave
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| Got sneakers got clothes nigga you do the math
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| Push to hustle but the point is just to stack that cash
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| Tales of a hustler… |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Tales Of A Hustler , by - Beanie Sigel. Song from the album The B.Coming, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп