Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hustler Hall Of Fame , by - Mickey Avalon. Release date: 30.10.2006
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Hustler Hall Of Fame |
| The road to the top, through cross guards and hard knocks |
| Copper penny Johns and endless city blocks |
| Thieves straight as an arrow and crooked rent-a-cops |
| Shooting craps in the back of vacant city lots |
| Three ring circus acts and worthless facts |
| Dancing in my solar soggy bowl of Diggum' Smacks |
| Fist-fucking faggots at the Y on gym mats |
| Rats run the wire while I’m looking for a match |
| I go back and forth just like a Cameo song |
| Honeys wanna love me but the line is long |
| So I make 'em take a number |
| Wake 'em from their slumber |
| What you know about Mickey? |
| (He's a bad motherfucker) |
| Truckers get my digits off the stalls at rest stops |
| I’m sick on the microphone like smallpox |
| Wild-eyed babies go crazy when I rock |
| Blind old ladies into diabetic shock |
| It’s all the same when they call my name |
| Mickey Avalon, hustler hall of fame |
| There ain’t no ball and chain, to hold me down |
| I got a golden smile and a platinum frown |
| It’s all the same when they call my name |
| Mickey Avalon, hustler hall of fame |
| There ain’t no ball and chain, to hold me down |
| I got a golden smile and a platinum frown |
| I flow like Niagara, go tell your manager |
| That Mickey Avalon ain’t no motherfuckin' amateur |
| I fly flicks with my dick at your camera |
| I rip the stick out my girl’s Porsche Carrera |
| I brought your whole formula, just warmin' up |
| Storm the front line and then I find a spot for lunch |
| Toxic-proof punch when the loot comes |
| Rocket boosters with my boots run |
| Underneath the tundra reach out for the Thundercats |
| Hoes know better find this brother at |
| I ripped the rubber mats out your lover’s pad |
| And kicked your mother’s ass right in front of your dad |
| Last night, a brass pipe and a flashlight |
| Smashed my crown and left me down with a black eye |
| The bad guy, walking over landmines, who can’t die but still tries |
| Leave your gods and your politics back at home |
| Cause I just wanna drink and be left alone |
| I gotta girl who likes to talk my ear off, see |
| So when I’m at the bar stay away from me |
| Don’t ask for a smoke or to make some change |
| I don’t care about your kid or your menstrual pains |
| You can call me rude but I like my solitude |
| And we don’t need to chat while we’re playing pool |
| So stay cool mister, I wasn’t lookin' at your sister |
| That snaggle toothed sea hag, lips all blistered |
| Now rack the balls while I’m in the stall |
| Pissin' out vodka and marking up the walls |
| I turn off the ringer when my lady calls |
| And don’t point your finger unless you want a brawl |
| I chalk up my cue and sink the eight ball |
| Then reach into my pocket and light a Pall Mall |