Lyrics Heart Of A Hustler (Screwed) - H.A.W.K., Kay-K, Lil Keke

Heart Of A Hustler (Screwed)

Where the guns clack-clack, and they love Fat Pat
Where them boys from the ghetto, put the South on the map
Before my world come to an end, I go and cop me a Benz
600, ride around and get blunted
All my past enemies, they gon get hunted
Make love to my woman, she get it how she want it
Take my kids to Disney World, like I won the Superbowl
Plus I beat my court case, because a loop hole
Exotic flavors, always keep the fruit rolled
My bulletproof block shots, like Manute Bol
You can’t hit me, be in Houston like I’m Whitney
Spear you like Brittany, put a knife in your kidney
Godfather run game, like the Globetrotters
I should run for President, like I’m Jimmy Carter
Over the waters, coke smuggled through the harbors
In the states we transport it through somebody’s daughter
Before my world comes to an end, I’m going out with my men
Screwed Up Click, setting a trend
In the Lex or the Benz, steady spending the ends
Getting up with yellow bones, have ‘em calling they friends
Before my world ends, I wanna push a pearl Benz
On 20 inch Lorenz, that spin like whirlwinds
Hugging my girlfriend, that’s black and plastic
And she doesn’t mind, putting these haters in caskets
Put a cheddar to cheese, and velveeta I mash quick
I came in this game, first round draft pick
Taking your bitches, making my riches
Bracelets frostbit, so you can skate on my wristses
Pretty hoes see me pull up, in 4.6's
And that’s when they get mad, wishing it was two Chris’s
On tracks I’m vicious, untamed and malicious
In they face, blowing up like air bags and bubble-licious
Serving you flows, like Papa Deauxxx main dishes
Getting funds by the tons, while the dope game switches
I make it senseless, to end up dead or in the FED
When I can spit lyrical heroin, and make bread
You bitches pathetic, you niggas polished synthetic
Cake mix and flour, make up your genetics
Call the paramedics, shit’s about to get hectic
Fin to light up your spot, like General Electric
Dead End Texas, the best with pitched bird
I done flooded the Suburb', with fifty featherless birds
My game blast superb, Gucci shoes and Iceberg
Since it’s all about the End, I have the urge to splurge
It’s lunch time, you on the bench at crunch time
And one rhyme, can hit you on the punch line
My bullets defy gravity, bust through your chest cavity
With pen point actually, I restructure your anamity
More vultures than I bury, I can cause a catastrophe
Arenas filled to capacity, and you have the audacity
I’ll kill your next-a-kin, be hard to apprehend
Turning corners in the Benz, my world has come to an end
(talking)
Yo, before we leave this world playboy
We gon live it up you dig, me and Big H.A.W.K
Under Hawk’s Wings, In God’s Hands Records
Godfather forever you dig, 2000 shit you know I mean
H-Town put it down, Dirty South put it in ya mouth
Y’all niggas don’t want no war, we them ill niggas