(ah ha) Ohh baby mmmmmmmm oh baby! [talk to em] ohhh baby (its what hustlaz do, this is a hustlaz song, this hustle is gone)
Let me what the sun don't like, caught somewhere between stop and go like yellow lights. (ah ha) hustla so I got to get it mellow ride me down the block around the clock nothin nice. I roll like cherry red yellow dice just watch it pop call it the "kettle white", its hot, just the block, call it the "ghetto wife", Paul Mccane its my ball and chain, mi amor.
Hopefully I won't fall and hang, like pictures on the wall or halls of fame. Its jus a boy man, look what it all became nothin all, but look at all remains, all the flossy things, marks from all the claws and fangs, remarks from all of yall have changed. Bustin back all yall I trained, apologize cuz of all of yall I blame..
This what hustlaz do. An you ain't did it to a hustlaz do. An you didn't know it till a hustla knew. An you ain't done till a hustlaz threw. I'm a customer too its what hustlaz do. An you ain't seen it till you seen it from a hustla'z view. Open yo eyes its a hustlaz song. God forgive if the hustle is wrong.
Its bigger things so he becomes to know shit. Striving to be numba one till I overdose. I speak it now on my tongue hold it from youngest son, runnin from older quotes, \\"Thou shall not sin, thou shall not steal, thou shall not kill, thou shall not turn your back on those in need, I try to flip, but these government slips teach me at these chosen speeds. I'm just a rose in weeds, and I arose with reasons, to stay on this road I lead, till I leave with what I sold, my soul indeed, leave my son with the sum of what I sold in deeds. I'm foldin yall, probably headed for the pin like bowling balls, kept it directed at the pen and wrote it for yall.
It takes a lot of patience when you takin it on, a lot of patent a lot of makin it known, but I ain't the type of nigga that be placin it on. I was the king of this city now they replacing the thrown. I know its a lot of hatin waitin at home, and she ain't waitin you can hear the bass in her tone, like she can't make it alone in a broken home and she the brace for the bone just embracin the phone a lot of ballin up letters a lot of erasing the poems, a lot of comin to grips that you gonna be facin alone. All this time all this time you was wrong. But you know whatever happens I got you, and you know what happened done happened they was happy to drop you, not letters and shoes, no chedda, Yo mom sold shoes and sweaters shes not better.