Hustle - Mac Dre, Boss Hogg, B-Luv

I’m ‘bout to get it right, bubblin' all night

Hustlin', man, that’s most of my life

Fuck Tuesdays and Thursdays, I’m out on the streets

Stoppin' traffic, not worried about police

And they punk sweeps, see, I got fronted the zip

By my older cousin, and when he gave it he said this:

'Shit, go carefully, be wit' it, slick

You don’t want a case to fight.'

'A'ight, I get it.'

To the track for scritch, now ain’t this a bitch

I damn near made it happen, but somebody was jealous

And told I was crackin', but fuck it see

They gotta live for workin' with police

Laughin' at authorities, to hell with the station

Plus, a shell to whoever gave Vallejo information

Patient, who stay with his head achin'

Up all night tryna right my bacon, hustle

And while my nigga Boss on the S-T straight hustlin'

I’m networkin', still at your B and I’m bustin'

And who I’m trustin'?

Not nann nigga

Hustlin' in a different form tryna get it bigger

Mouthpiece so hard on a broad, no labor

Hustlin', never playin' Captain Save-a-

Hoe, you should know B-Luv ain’t playin'

Like a poodle, she obeyin' everything that I’m sayin'

Enough of that, though;

a million things goin' through my mind

But I handle it like a soldier gettin' blapped at on the frontline

Takin' all bullets, even shells

My life’s a big hustle and I’mma show and tell

Never been materialistic, everything’s for sale

Beatin' ‘em to the punch like Bill Gates for the mail

Just like a crack fiend need blow, got to have it

That’s how I be, green in my face, got to grab it

Me and my amigos, we seein' chips

Come through dipped in European whips

Beats slappin', we so mackish

Giggin' in somethin' so throwbackish

No practice, it’s all on auto

Old school dope game like Troops and Lottos

Don’t use the bottle but boy I’m dope

Just like a 30, eye through the scope

My niggas move more snow than ski slopes

Y’all niggas is lame, don’t know the ropes

I don’t know your folks, fuck ‘em, they weenies

My niggas jack saps, put holes in beanies

Get it, get it, get it, eat it and shit it

Every time I done it, they say he did it

Mac Dre, keep a heater on me

And touch more bread than salami

It’s the muthafuckin' Husalah Husalah

How could you make a song about hustlin'

Without the Husalah, man, it’s nothin'

You’re petty coat pushin', I’m 26 kickin' it

Cross country sippin' it

Pay me 25, I only pay one-sixth of it

Dumb dewy fresh, yeah

Trill shit, I’m livin' it, Mob ‘til my death

1, 2, 3, get your scrill right, nigga

On the darkside of life, you’ll find me, a dope dealer

Husalah Husalah, a sideways leaner

If I twist six off, I’mma bring back nina

My 4−5 spark, your lights’ll go dark

And I still got work for cheap

My hustle won’t slack off until I get my smack off

Pull my stog out on a poor bitch and jack off

I don’t need sex, I need Tecs and 4−5's

A muthafuckin' Husalah Husalah like WHA!