Hustlers

Yeah
Dre, he a Compton, Compton O.G
Nas, he a QB, QB true G, do the history

Way before The Firm, like back in the day
Nas was the first New York nigga rappin' with Dre
So of course I got a track to bring it back to your face
The one kid that would have been Aftermath that got away
But we still get together like, every several years
To sprinkle, a little bit of heaven for your ears
Relax, sippin' Cliquot in Rio, stupid fuckers
Low-key, no G's, but it's still Gucci luggage

I love Cape Cod, and watching fly bitches with gray eyes
Wrestle in a tub of KY to get my day by
I like to celebrate, why? 'Cause I can vision
Collages of images of my lives with no regrets or hate
So every breath I take is all about the rules
It's hard for you to breath like you at high altitude
So crack the Patron, it's on heathens
The God's back, hard body, Mr. Jones never leavin'

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coast, we riders
Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coastin', oh, yeah

He a Compton, Compton O.G
Mix that with a QB, QB true G
What ya got's a concoction of some different ghetto blocks
West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gunshots
He a Compton, Compton O.G
Mix that with a QB, QB true G
What ya got's a concoction of some different ghetto blocks
West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gun-

1995, eleven years from the day
I'm in the record shop with choices to make
Illmatic on the top shelf, The Chronic on the left, homie
Wanna cop both but only got a 20 on me
So fuck it, I stole both, spent the 20 on a dub sack
Ripped the package of Illmatic and bumped that
For my niggas it was too complex when Nas rhyme
I was the only Compton nigga with a New York state of mind

Inside the dope house, bottlin' up sherm
Bangin' The Firm, Dre was king then so I waited my turn
Fast-forward, now I'm makin' 'em burn
Ended my peers' careers, hollered at Nas, a hard lesson was learned
So I reconciled my differences like he did with Jigga
I stopped beefin' with niggas, 'cause I'm "Ether" to niggas
Comb the Earth 'til there's no-one left
If I ruled the world I'd summons all you weak rap niggas to death

He a Compton, Compton O.G
Mix that with a QB, QB true G
What ya got's a concoction of some different ghetto blocks
West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gunshots

Yo, the Jordan's sportin'
Come off the dice game with a fortune walkin', you a walkin' coffin
The musket, I tucked it, you bluff it, I bus' it
You're sideways talkin', so why lay off him
I wait patient, to duct-tape hatin'
Fuck ass niggas get bucked, ass niggas
Pluck ashes of Cuban cigars, you foolin' with Nas
That's our name, and I came, with groupies this time

And if I'm sane that Soul Plane movie's the bomb
Word to my mom's name tattooed to my arm
You can't revolve me, embalm me, calm me or harm me
Rob me or dodge these bullets I'm bustin'
See that's malarkey, you yappin'
I open up the tripod to put the Gatling on, and I start clappin'
Nasty man, from bagging grams and runnin' from cops
To a mil' on the hand, a mil' on the watch, I'm fuckin' with Doc

Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coast we riders
Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coastin', oh, yeah