Lyric Hang Out and Hustle
The C-R-U-D-D-Y, the C-L-I-C-K
It s texture pure terror a street professor aggressor scale and measure
clever compressor stretching salary stacks be running blocks as a
factory
structure capture the raw product I manufacture, fracture critic chatter
nigga catcher as I blast a cop matter capsule shatter scatter midnight
disasters clips I rather gather then flip for what I m after now and
forever money makes things better at a regular gets me jewelry, bitches,
bankcards, cars and competitors proposed threats wreck necks and puff ya
puzzled see trouble muzzles when I hang and hustle.
Booda Bop, Boom, Bam, Bink, Bick Bow Bookow, Ratatat, Klack Klick, Klick
Kow, Klick Kow put brains with muscle. Hear a crew of guys utilize they
skills. Bang out hang out slang out work and hustle. Flip techniques
over
boogie bangin beats. A street fleet with Moet, dank and freaks in
twenty separate suite I m servin dope lyrics holding weight, just like
Chris Webber a warrior from Golden State, and I conjure up raps I bet
you
don t know any they be hitting like that brick that smacked Reginald
Denny.
Collects cash n checks on a jet to meet the next client as I arrive at
L.A.X.
I m up early so I catch my phlegm spit step then stash the stem 10 clips
in ten shit bottles are sectioned in wit a clip thick a block stocked
wit
protection see X again tools ta fry and unified like Mexicans but if
shit
is slow in comin a fiend that s one thing thats when you see twenty
niggas running to one fiend.
Yo black tops I got that yellow high for hours buy from me now or next
time I swear I ll sell you flour I got dreams of getting a 98 or a Caddy
living fatty plus I got a little man calling me daddy my lady and little
man they need me and I need em I gotta see em and please em but first
of
all clothe & feed em so we can see freedom even if I jeopardize my time
and life while I m in this game I m making sure that mine is right from
the beginning to the end its dividend to the end so I like to hang out
and
hustle wit my friends.
Well it s Friday night and the weekend s here. All that partying shit
must take a seat to the rear.
Instead of fuckin wit those phony ghetto chicks I d rather be movin my
clips with my homies on the bricks my fingers stay hard. My hands stay
full of ash. My fingenails stay dirty that s from burying my stash.
Fiends are bummin , money s comin to say the least, but I m out there
flippin clips feeding the belly of the beast. It s first of the month
money s comin all day all night and too many going for theirs I m
cuttin
sales off with my bike. Now with my niggaz in session we freestyle
rhyme.
Reminiscing moving that shit 20 s of clips at a time.
It s texture pure terror a street professor aggressor scale and measure
clever compressor stretching salary stacks be running blocks as a
factory
structure capture the raw product I manufacture, fracture critic chatter
nigga catcher as I blast a cop matter capsule shatter scatter midnight
disasters clips I rather gather then flip for what I m after now and
forever money makes things better at a regular gets me jewelry, bitches,
bankcards, cars and competitors proposed threats wreck necks and puff ya
puzzled see trouble muzzles when I hang and hustle.
Booda Bop, Boom, Bam, Bink, Bick Bow Bookow, Ratatat, Klack Klick, Klick
Kow, Klick Kow put brains with muscle. Hear a crew of guys utilize they
skills. Bang out hang out slang out work and hustle. Flip techniques
over
boogie bangin beats. A street fleet with Moet, dank and freaks in
twenty separate suite I m servin dope lyrics holding weight, just like
Chris Webber a warrior from Golden State, and I conjure up raps I bet
you
don t know any they be hitting like that brick that smacked Reginald
Denny.
Collects cash n checks on a jet to meet the next client as I arrive at
L.A.X.
I m up early so I catch my phlegm spit step then stash the stem 10 clips
in ten shit bottles are sectioned in wit a clip thick a block stocked
wit
protection see X again tools ta fry and unified like Mexicans but if
shit
is slow in comin a fiend that s one thing thats when you see twenty
niggas running to one fiend.
Yo black tops I got that yellow high for hours buy from me now or next
time I swear I ll sell you flour I got dreams of getting a 98 or a Caddy
living fatty plus I got a little man calling me daddy my lady and little
man they need me and I need em I gotta see em and please em but first
of
all clothe & feed em so we can see freedom even if I jeopardize my time
and life while I m in this game I m making sure that mine is right from
the beginning to the end its dividend to the end so I like to hang out
and
hustle wit my friends.
Well it s Friday night and the weekend s here. All that partying shit
must take a seat to the rear.
Instead of fuckin wit those phony ghetto chicks I d rather be movin my
clips with my homies on the bricks my fingers stay hard. My hands stay
full of ash. My fingenails stay dirty that s from burying my stash.
Fiends are bummin , money s comin to say the least, but I m out there
flippin clips feeding the belly of the beast. It s first of the month
money s comin all day all night and too many going for theirs I m
cuttin
sales off with my bike. Now with my niggaz in session we freestyle
rhyme.
Reminiscing moving that shit 20 s of clips at a time.
