I don't trust no hoes, that's how T got popped
I'm a hustler, man I supply the fiends
I'm a bonafide hustler, nigga get out of line, I'll cut ya
We ain't scared of the roll, we just get it and go
I'm a bonafide hustler, nigga get out of line, I'll cut ya
Ya's a hustler, man I stay on the grind
I'll tell you what, I'll hook you up just one last time
Now Sham stay askin' for a dime for 9
If you, play games with mine, I can match it from behind
We at it again, we gettin' 'em for ten my nigga
I'm out there robbin' everything
A bunch of lil' niggaz with dime sacks in they backpacks
That Haitian nigga with the guitar that sing "Gone 'Til November"
Me, I'm bout my paper it's fuck, ya
Customs is comin' son is pumpin' watch the packs dissolve
I do a buck-forty in the rain, hydroplanin'
And I can chef up a miracle with Arm and Hammer
Eighth after eighth, what'chu know about that fast flip?
I'm a bonafide hustler, nigga get out of line, I'll cut ya
Come and get it we got it, take a trip to the projects
You see the police, but we gon' sell our dope regardless
When I was younger with my crew I had them niggaz sniffin' glue
Got that hydro burnin', got the burner in the stash
He'd break down the blocks, I'd open up shop around the clock
I'm a hustler, nigga I'll sell you a dream
I been out here for too long, I deserve to get a bird
If you, play games with mine, I can match it from behind
With my nine
Me, I'm bout my paper it's fuck, ya
And I ain't gon' stop, so soon as you come home from the pen
It's 40's to the gram to them truckers and bamas
12 o's of mushrooms, 2 pounds of smoke
Hit the hazards, hit the AC, then it come out the dash
Me, I'm bout my paper it's fuck, ya
And if these niggaz don't let me sling
Me and Priest had the streets on lock
I'm a bonafide hustler, nigga get out of line, I'll cut ya
That's that joint what's his name son? I don't remember
I'm a bonafide hustler, nigga get out of line, I'll cut ya
And a thousand pills of every kind of ecstasy
He showed a bitch where his stash was, she told it to the cops
9 grams of heroin, a 100 grams of coke
Me, I'm bout my paper it's fuck, ya
If you, play games with mine, I can match it from behind
With my nine, I'm a bonafide hustler
With my nine, I'm a bonafide hustler
Me, I'm bout my paper it's fuck, ya
I'm connected with them people who don't speak no english
Start shootin' and I ain't strapped, fuck it I'm runnin'
If you, play games with mine, I can match it from behind
If you, play games with mine, I can match it from behind
Now I'm headed down South and that's my word
The fiends know my name now from standin' on this curb
I got blood on my shirt, and a handful of crack
Crack spots, smoky fiends suckin' on that glass dick
Me, I'm bout my paper it's fuck, ya
You niggaz know me, from fillin' up your heron needles
You see them Tennessee tags nigga you already know
With my nine, I'm a bonafide hustler
So I'ma just ball the fuck out while I'm breathin'
You know I'm a hustler ey
Hash, hashish, I bought a sixty-two
With my nine
With my nine
If you, play games with mine, I can match it from behind
I'm a bonafide hustler, nigga get out of line, I'll cut ya
3 gal's of dust juice and a tank of LSD
Singles, C-notes to food stamps, we stackin it all
I'm on the Greyhound bout to move these birds
If fag-o in the club sonnin', niggaz start dumbin'
Got a brand new mac, and a P-89
They say heaven's for church goers and hell's for the heathens
Me, I'm bout my paper it's fuck, ya
I'm a bonafide hustler, nigga get out of line, I'll cut ya
If you, play games with mine, I can match it from behind
Lamborghini Diablo, candy painted
