Tales Of A Hustler Pt. 2 - Beanie Sigel, Oschino, Sparks

[Beanie Sigel

Court casin.

Third felony facin

No probation

My heart racin like a blunt lacin

Hennessy and malt liquor chasin

My gemstar scarrin niggas faces

For a pound of trey eight and.

I throw bullets like Dallas Troy Aikman

The callous on my index stay achin

Niggas stay hatin

Got me late night pacin

I’m tight boot lacin

Mask on like I’m Jason

Shoot up shit like Larry Davis

You play the pulpit like Pastor Mason

Turn cheek like Martin Luther

I’m like Oswald sharp-shootin

Got my eyes on my mark in the dark shootin

Beam illuminate the target movin

Get your organs ruined

Move out like SWAT move in

Got them niggas on the back-block rootin

For the bad guy.

Playground legend like Sadait (?)

P. Kirkland… My MP state workin

Shootin-arm stay jerkin

My Nextel stay chripin

Can’t answer cause the feds lurkin

Its like we catchin cancer on purpose

Back to back chain smoking, nicotine feinin

Conversation with demons when I’m dreamin

Manic-depressive

Like the man upstairs tryin to pass me a lesson

But I can’t catch it

The game under break the pressure

They miss my presence

We still not promised tomorrow

Takin the bitter with the sweet up in these cold ass streets

We got lifestyles through our scars

We ride hard til our numbers get called

The lifestyle of a hustler…

I’m feelin like deaths in the air

Got me back to back buckin my squares

But I ain’t bitchin I ain’t scared

I ain’t budgin, in fact the thrill alone turns me on

Got me smiling, laughin… Clutchin

My toast and confrontin mother fuckers

Cock-a-roaches will not catch me laughin

Skinny and slim fram y’all get it the same

Cool niggas that’ll spin out they waves

Grimey niggas that’ll spin to they graves

Justifyin my foul ways

I got kids to raise

But motherfuckers rather see me sprayed

Than to see me pair (fucker)

Or see me on the front page like Sig

Or stay rolled DC with B. Sig

You bitch niggas stay PC when y’all see me

Until the day that they

Fit me in the grave and the city wreak of me

We got the city under siege

S-P or R-O-C

Poverty is a movie starrin me

Ride with no play the passenger seat

So y’all can see how my life so real

So y’all can see how my life so ill

(I came to chill.)

Tales of a hustler that’s me in the flesh

Got a Jag and a Caddy sellin dimes of the step

Niggas wanna take my block I had to earn my respect

So I put his cerebellum on his grandma’s steps

You know Oschino he’ll probly kill

Got the soul of Huey Newton nigga Bobby Seale

Nigga prolly take the stand he’ll prolly squeal

But I got four lawyers I ain’t takin the deal (Nigga)

We could strap without scrap or put the semi in it

Gun fully loaded like the Chrysler with the hemmy in it

I keep it ghetto like a 40 with the Henny in it

Went to school broke loafers on no pennies in it

Stood the coldest winter with the bummiest coat

Need food need shoes sold dummies of soap

Got tired of bein broke man life was a bitch

They bring you flowers when you dead but no soup while you sick

So I switched my whole picture get involved with the bricks

Not the ones made of semen but the ones who sniffs

Tales of hustler, niggas come for your jugular

If you sell one bag to they mother fuckin customers

State P we got the city on smash

Got every boulevard every street every ave

Got sneakers got clothes nigga you do the math

Push to hustle but the point is just to stack that cash

Tales of a hustler…