| I’m ‘bout to get it right, bubblin' all night
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| Hustlin', man, that’s most of my life
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| Fuck Tuesdays and Thursdays, I’m out on the streets
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| Stoppin' traffic, not worried about police
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| And they punk sweeps, see, I got fronted the zip
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| By my older cousin, and when he gave it he said this:
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| 'Shit, go carefully, be wit' it, slick
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| You don’t want a case to fight.' |
| 'A'ight, I get it.'
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| To the track for scritch, now ain’t this a bitch
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| I damn near made it happen, but somebody was jealous
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| And told I was crackin', but fuck it see
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| They gotta live for workin' with police
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| Laughin' at authorities, to hell with the station
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| Plus, a shell to whoever gave Vallejo information
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| Patient, who stay with his head achin'
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| Up all night tryna right my bacon, hustle
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| And while my nigga Boss on the S-T straight hustlin'
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| I’m networkin', still at your B and I’m bustin'
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| And who I’m trustin'? |
| Not nann nigga
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| Hustlin' in a different form tryna get it bigger
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| Mouthpiece so hard on a broad, no labor
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| Hustlin', never playin' Captain Save-a-
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| Hoe, you should know B-Luv ain’t playin'
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| Like a poodle, she obeyin' everything that I’m sayin'
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| Enough of that, though; |
| a million things goin' through my mind
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| But I handle it like a soldier gettin' blapped at on the frontline
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| Takin' all bullets, even shells
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| My life’s a big hustle and I’mma show and tell
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| Never been materialistic, everything’s for sale
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| Beatin' ‘em to the punch like Bill Gates for the mail
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| Just like a crack fiend need blow, got to have it
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| That’s how I be, green in my face, got to grab it
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| Me and my amigos, we seein' chips
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| Come through dipped in European whips
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| Beats slappin', we so mackish
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| Giggin' in somethin' so throwbackish
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| No practice, it’s all on auto
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| Old school dope game like Troops and Lottos
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| Don’t use the bottle but boy I’m dope
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| Just like a 30, eye through the scope
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| My niggas move more snow than ski slopes
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| Y’all niggas is lame, don’t know the ropes
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| I don’t know your folks, fuck ‘em, they weenies
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| My niggas jack saps, put holes in beanies
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| Get it, get it, get it, eat it and shit it
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| Every time I done it, they say he did it
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| Mac Dre, keep a heater on me
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| And touch more bread than salami
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| It’s the muthafuckin' Husalah Husalah
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| How could you make a song about hustlin'
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| Without the Husalah, man, it’s nothin'
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| You’re petty coat pushin', I’m 26 kickin' it
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| Cross country sippin' it
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| Pay me 25, I only pay one-sixth of it
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| Dumb dewy fresh, yeah
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| Trill shit, I’m livin' it, Mob ‘til my death
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| 1, 2, 3, get your scrill right, nigga
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| On the darkside of life, you’ll find me, a dope dealer
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| Husalah Husalah, a sideways leaner
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| If I twist six off, I’mma bring back nina
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| My 4−5 spark, your lights’ll go dark
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| And I still got work for cheap
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| My hustle won’t slack off until I get my smack off
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| Pull my stog out on a poor bitch and jack off
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| I don’t need sex, I need Tecs and 4−5's
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| A muthafuckin' Husalah Husalah like WHA! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hustle , by - Mac Dre. Song from the album The Best of Mac Dre Volume 4, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп