Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Heart Of A Hustler (Screwed), artist - H.A.W.K.Date of issue: 08.03.2005
Song language: English
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 |