Tales of a Hustler Pt.2

Beanie Sigel

Composição de: A.J. Lewis/D.B. Grant
[Beanie Sigel] 
Court casin.. 
Third felony facin 
No probation 
My heart racin like a blunt lacin 
Hennessy and malt liquor chasin 
My gemstar scarrin niggaz faces 
For a pound of trey eight and.. 
I throw bullets like Dallas Troy Aikman 
The callous on my index stay achin 
Niggaz stay hatin 
Got me late night pacin 
I'm tight boot lacin 
Mask on like I'm Jason 
Shoot up shit like Larry Davis 
You play the pulpit like Pastor Mason 
Turn cheek like Martin Luther 
I'm like Oswald sharp-shootin 
Got my eyes on my mark in the dark shootin 
Beam illuminate the target movin 
Get your organs ruined 
Move out like SWAT move in 
Got them niggaz on the back-block rootin 
For the bad guy.. 
Playground legend like Sadait(?) 
P. Kirkland...My MP state workin 
Shootin-arm stay jerkin 
My Nextel stay chripin 
Can't answer cause the feds lurkin 
Its like we catchin cancer on purpose 
Back to back chain smoking, nicotine feinin 
Conversation with demons when I'm dreamin 
Manic-depressive 
Like the man upstairs tryin to pass me a lesson 
But I can't catch it 
The game under break the pressure 
They miss my presence 

[Chorus 2X: Sparks] 
We still not promised tomorrow 
Takin the bitter with the sweet up in these cold ass streets 
We got lifestyles through our scars 
We ride hard til our numbers get called 
The lifestyle of a hustler... 

[Sparks] 
I'm feelin like deaths in the air 
Got me back to back buckin my squares 
But I ain't bitchin I ain't scared 
I ain't budgin, in fact the thrill alone turns me on 
Got me smiling, laughin...Clutchin 
My toast and confrontin mother fuckers 
Cock-a-roaches will not catch me laughin 
Skinny and slim fram y'all get it the same 
Cool niggaz that'll spin out they waves 
Grimey niggaz that'll spin to they graves 
Justifyin my foul ways 
I got kids to raise 
But motherfuckers rather see me sprayed 
Than to see me pair (fucker) 
Or see me on the front page like Sig 
Or stay rolled DC with B. Sig 
You bitch niggaz stay PC when y'all see me 
Until the day that they 
Fit me in the grave and the city wreak of me 
We got the city under siege 
S-P or R-O-C 
Poverty is a movie starrin me 
Ride with no play the passenger seat 
So y'all can see how my life so real 
So y'all can see how my life so ill 
(I came to chill..) 

[Chorus] 

[Oschino] 
Tales of a hustler that's me in the flesh 
Got a Jag and a Caddy sellin dimes of the step 
Niggaz wanna take my block I had to earn my respect 
So I put his cerebellum on his grandma's steps 
You know Oschino he'll probly kill 
Got the soul of Huey Newton nigga Bobby Seale 
Nigga prolly take the stand he'll prolly squeal 
But I got four lawyers I ain't takin the deal (Nigga) 
We could strap without scrap or put the semi in it 
Gun fully loaded like the Chrysler with the hemmy in it 
I keep it ghetto like a 40 with the Henny in it 
Went to school broke loafers on no pennies in it 
Stood the coldest winter with the bummiest coat 
Need food need shoes sold dummies of soap 
Got tired of bein broke man life was a bitch 
They bring you flowers when you dead but no soup while you sick 
So I switched my whole picture get involved with the bricks 
Not the ones made of semen but the ones who sniffs 
Tales of hustler, niggaz come for your jugular 
If you sell one bag to they mother fuckin customers 
State P we got the city on smash 
Got every boulevard every street every ave 
Got sneakers got clothes nigga you do the math 
Push to hustle but the point is just to stack that cash 
Tales of a hustler....
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