Testo Hustlin - DJ Drama feat. Lil Wayne
Testo della canzone Hustlin (DJ Drama feat. Lil Wayne), tratta dall'album Dedication 2
Now what they do, you know it's Weezy F the fucking Boss
Inside the Phantom, bitch so big I'd probably get lost
Hop out that exhaust in my funky cold medina
I make that ho tip-toe like a ballerina
I'm the Miami fever in that Miami heat
I been in Miami water, I'm like a Florida Marlin
But I come from New Orleans, nigga, we still strong
And my money real long, real, real, real long
And this my 13th year, bitch, I'm still goin'
So my money real long, real, real, real long
Nigga, that steel on red beam, safety off
Murder scene, tape it off, red rum, tomato sauce
Niggas say they paper boys, bitch, I be with caper boys
I say we be burning bodies, we don't be burning cars
And I got a bitch with me, call her Miss Without Drawers
And I'm at the bank, you can call me Mr. Withdrawals
You want it, I'ma bring it, let Diana Ross sing it
I'ma pull it, I'ma bang it, that's the Nina Ross singing
I be weighing up a locker with that Rick Ross banging
If you try me, I reverse you, now you Kris Kross swinging
Yeah, whip soft-top, seats soft, let her feet rock
Heat cocked, something on my neck look like a peacock
You need not talk that street hop to me, ock
Cause we pop like thousand dollar bottles of that Chris Rock
Bitch, stop tripping, I been hot, when not?
I been threw away what they just got
And niggas talk shit, but when I see 'em, they lips lock
Bitch pop, know I got that U-Wop grip lock
Get shot, bitch, I bet I'm hustling when your nigga not
Bigger appetite, bigger pot, eat
Call it what you want, but baby, just don't call the cops
Let 'em chase that drop, I'ma chase that gwop
Yeah, racetrack jacket with the racetrack locs, yeah
All-black Maserati, chase that smoke
I'ma crack that egg open, beat that yolk
Let it soak, let it soak, watch it come back bulk
Yeah, then I hit the streets up and talk that talk
Let it flow, let it flow, never come back broke, nah
Run that shit, I'm Cash Money's bread and butter, no sugar
Bring me all the beef, I'm the motherfucking pressure cooker
Yeah, yeah, I could change the weather for you
Lose your ass, the neighbors, tell 'em that they never saw you
Close your mouth, it'd be better for you
All that snitching like the cops got a medal for you
I'm a hustler, got work, hoes, and metal for you
When you think you ready, I be ready for you, bitch
Credits
Writer(s): William Roberts, Jermaine Jackson, Andrew Harr
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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