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| Song: | Hustlin' (Featuring Big Tri/young Tone) |  
| Album: | Down and Dirty | Genres: | Urban |  
| Year: | 2010 | Length: | 228 sec |  Lyrics: 
 (feat. Big Tri  Young Tone)
 (Kurupt)
 Yeah, nigga, nigga
 No disrespect to you East coast
 The West coast we got heat too
 We gon' keep it real G'd up
 (Y.A., Tri, Lil' Kurupt)
 
 (Verse One)
 Okay, if I don't make it rappin it's back to jackin
 Back to the click-clackin and the khaki jackets
 I'm a rider, dat's why I got that tat
 And a provider, jazz got a lot I ain't had
 I'm a survivor, screwdriver, cracked steering column
 Every event, book bag, gat at the bottom
 I'm convinced, that my common sense intensify
 Now I'm convinced it's, hoppin over fences
 
 (Chorus: patois speaker - best guess)
 Six in de mornin you know they kyan't find no mo-ney, mo-ney
 {?} get money haffi feed my whole fami-ly, fami-ly
 It was because I load 'n buck gyal you know she a scared for me, for me
 Because the tussle an' the hustle an' it rough and {?} to be me, be me
 
 (Kurupt)
 Pistol's my specialty, and uh
 I'm a gangster, my specialy, and uh
 Fire I let it fly and toss, and uh
 I'm a boss molotovs get tossed, and uh
 Hey girl, what the fuck's the deal?  And uh
 You want the fake girl, or you want the real?  And uh
 Sixty-four Chevy's all on D's, and uh
 Overdosin to West coast MC's, and uh
 And you be thinkin you got me but you ain't got a thang
 Niggaz claimin they bangin but they don't really bang
 Since I {?} opposition position switch the game
 Pistols whistle while missiles'll chip a niggaz frame
 
 (Chorus)
 
 (Verse Three)
 I'm a pistol popper, 88 candy-painted Cadillac dropper
 Tanqueray and vodka
 One-nine or thirty-eight, tec and a chopper
 Infrared hollow pointed tucked in my boxers
 I'ma keep it gangster y'all, fuck what the rest say
 Keep a lot of dope and coke, like an ese
 So please pay attention, this street shit is serious
 My niggaz leave you bleedin like bitches on they periods
 Contact your label, bring your best artists-es
 Nigga we started this, verbally retarded shit
 Entourage rider, we eatin Budweiser
 Throw away thirty-eight, brand new fo'-fiver
 
 (Chorus)
 
 (Kurupt)
 (The hustlin is hard) Break 'em down nigga
 (It get rougher in my yard) Gotti, nigga what
 (We say the hustlin is hard) Please let's roll these suckers
 (It get rough and get it tough in my yard)
 
 (patois speaker ad lib to end)
 
 
		
		
	
 
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