Hustlers

Lyrics

[Intro: Nas] Dre, he a Compton-Compton O.G Nas, he a QB-QB true G Do the history [Verse 1: Nas] 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've 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 and images–of my lies, with no regret to hate So every breath I take, is all about the rules It's hard for you to breathe, like you at high altitude So crack the Patrón, it's on, heathens The God's back, hard body, Mr. Jones never leavin' [Chorus: Marsha Ambrosius] 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' O.G [Bridge: Nas & The Game] He a Compton-Compton O.G Mix that with a QB-QB true G, what you 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 you got's A concoction of some different ghetto blocks West Coast kill the tracks, East Coast gun— {*shot*} [Verse 2: The Game] 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 off 'Illmatic' and bumped that For my niggas, it was too complex when Nas rhymed 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 making '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 [Bridge: Nas & The Game] He a Compton-Compton OG Mix that with a QB-QB true G, what you got's A concoction of some different ghetto blocks West Coast kill the tracks East Coast gunshots (Yeah) [Verse 3: Nas] Yo, the Jordans sportin', come off the dice game With a fortune walkin', you a walking coffin' The musket, I tucked it You bluff it, I bust it You're sideways talking, so I lay often 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 my name, and I came with Rugers 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 busting See, that's malarky 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 mill' on the hand, a mill' on the watch, I'm fuckin' with Doc [Chorus: Marsha Ambrosius] 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' O.G