Curtisey...early seen...working these...
dirty streets...3rd degree...burns of heat...verbally...
or phisically...the more pistols you see equivalents more serious beef...
you never see the boss gritting his teeth...I be cool...
I keep knitting the sheet...-why re-spool...?
it's already a wrap dunny...
I fund tracks...that talk about tracks with the crack money...
the gutta is back dummy...tucking a gat...
that'll touch on ya cap...untill the front and the back bloody...
sluggs touching ya fat tummy...I'm poppin fresh...glocks and tecs...
now tell me is that funny...
big business...nobody taking that from me...
come get me if you that gully...
I'll be on Prospect and MLKey...
E.O. , N.J. with a SMG...
kids will say...
shit, damn the boss is...the biggest pitcher to hit NYC since Randy Johnson...
so, what more can I say...
to let niggas realize -this aint a water gun I spray...
and these aint fresh rolls I bake...
and when hugging the block...
it aint these elbows I scrape...
I'm a hustla bitch...you wanna come with the itch...
and I'll scratch ya for a couple of tics...
track you for a couple of trips...make a number of slips...
I'll trap you for a couple of bricks...
serving the bitch like I'm Sheripova...
the better soldier...holding the weapon closer...
like it's breast feeding...
1 shot ya chest leaking...
like a flu shot...the kid is too hot...
could be catching him a fever...
from just stretching the medecine with ether...
who's sicker than the bastard...
the original Hustle Man...dippin pigeons in molasses...
ya listening to a classic...
cause I love a good work out...
and I aint talking fitness in the classes...
point blank...this nigga is the baddest...
when it comes to making that bread work...
or getting that head worked...
I'm dishing the china...in conditions tighter than a prison vagina...
ever since the kid was a minor...
I'm the nigga flipping a dime...yup...
getting my grind up...
so all you nickel and dime chumps...
ya withering time's up...
either fall back...or get in the line dumped...
it isn't as wise dunn...thinking the rhymes sung...
mean I won't get to clickin the nines son...
flinch and and then find one...
whistling by...
hitting the side...
trust me ...you niggas'll die young...
whipping a pie...listen...
I'm the kid to supply some...
