40 - Lifestyles - Lyrics - E

Title: 40 - Lifestyles
Artist: E
Composer(s): Earl T Stevens, Steve Vicious

Lyric:
Desperado always drinkin' out the bottle
Young hyena with the HK hollow point staple spray
Turf tight, soil block warrior from the avenue
Mean muggin' like I'm mad at you

Boiler make Baker's whiskey mixed in with my brew
Celebratin' smoking Mendocino bud this is the lifestyle of a thug
A hooligan a heathen wolverine
Everybody on my team got a triple beam

Tossin' candy to the dope fiends
Million dollar spot, million dollar dreams
Four or five different colored techa-marines
Yellow diamonds and stones and two-way pager phones

Plushed out SUV's smokin' Leprechaun
Flowers in the back seat watchin' Austin Powers with the windows up
Lost tryin' to get where we gettin'
Talking to the operator on my OnStar system

This is the lifestyle that I choose
We smoke tweed get keyed all day and drink brews
Which of [Incomprehensible] burp and get paper
Spray myself with sucka repellent and shake haters

This is the lifestyle that I choose
We smoke tweed get keyed all day and drink brews
Which of [Incomprehensible] burp and get paper
Spray myself with sucka repellent and shake haters

Every morning I got to have a nice fat joint and a hot bubble bath
Wrapped in a Backwood or a Zig-Zag
Eyes red like a broad on a rag
My pants sag down past my waistline with the vive

When I leave the coffee table got my nine by my spine
Funkin' like its goin' out of style
Mo' beef than a cow speakin' ebonics
Evonics and broken English from Venus

Intelligent hoodlums and geniuses
From the inner city Al Capones and Frank Nittys
From the ruler to the tutor hubba heada shoota
In the back for a hubble rock or crack

This is the lifestyle that I choose
We smoke tweed get keyed all day and drink brews
Which of [Incomprehensible] burp and get paper
Spray myself with sucka repellent and shake haters

This is the lifestyle that I choose
We smoke tweed get keyed all day and drink brews
Which of [Incomprehensible] burp and get paper
Spray myself with sucka repellent and shake haters

I just look like this but I'm really about my scratch
See what it is I want the po-pos to think that
I'm just as square as a box of apple jacks
I shoot craps drive GMC Avalanches and EXT Cadillacs

If you snooze you lose I know you got a lot a trust in your dudes
But check for traps and clues nobody's playin' by the rules anymore
Not even the people that made 'em up
My hood is corrupted and full of infidel one poverty

Not too much faithfulness mostly all betrayal
Mostly all my folks is dead or locked away in jail
Speakin' about some people that I miss
Tijuana Carter, Ricardo Slay and Lisa Smith

Fred, Tito, Pat and Kobe
And OG dead brother Fab the big homie
Hillside representin' this to the fullest
And all my folks locked down pullin' bullets

This is the lifestyle that I choose
We smoke tweed get keyed all day and drink brews
Which of [Incomprehensible] burp and get paper
Spray myself with sucka repellent and shake haters

This is the lifestyle that I choose
We smoke tweed get keyed all day and drink brews
Which of [Incomprehensible] burp and get paper
Spray myself with sucka repellent and shake haters

This is the lifestyle that I choose
We smoke tweed get keyed all day and drink brews
Which of [Incomprehensible] burp and get paper
Spray myself with sucka repellent and shake haters

This is the lifestyle that I choose
We smoke tweed get keyed all day and drink brews
Which of [Incomprehensible] burp and get paper
Spray myself with sucka repellent and shake haters

Play the MP3 online for free!

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Tales Of A Hustler Pt.2 - Lyrics - The B.Coming - Beanie Sigel

Title: Tales Of A Hustler Pt.2
Album: The B.Coming
Artist: Beanie Sigel
Composer(s): Kenneth William Johnson, Klaus Doldinger, A Lewis, Dwight Grant, Umar Alwan

Lyric:
Court casin', third felony facin'
No probation, my heart racin' like a blunt lacin'
Hennessey and malt liquor chasin'
My gem star scarrin' niggaz faces

For a pound of trey eight and
I throw bullets like Dallas Troy Aikman
The callous on my index stay achin'
Niggaz 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 niggaz 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

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
Cockaroaches will not catch me laughin'
Skinny and slim fram y'all get it the same

Cool niggaz that'll spin out they waves
Grimey niggaz 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 niggaz 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

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

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

Tales of a hustler that's me in the flesh
Got a Jag and a Caddy sellin' dimes of the step
Niggaz 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 probably 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 Henny 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 bummest coat
Need food need shoes sold dummies of soap
Got tired of being broke man life was a bitch
They bring you flowers when you head 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, niggaz 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

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Tales Of A Hustler Part Ii - Lyrics - Beanie Sigel

Title: Tales Of A Hustler Part Ii
Artist: Beanie Sigel
Composer(s): Umar Alwan, Klaus Doldinger, Dwight Grant, Kenneth William Johnson, A Lewis

Lyric:
Court casin', third felony facin', no probation
My heart racin' like a blunt lacin'
Hennessy and malt liquor chasin'
My gemstar scarrin' niggaz faces

For a pound of trey eight and
I throw bullets like Dallas Troy Aikman
The callous on my index stay achin'
Niggaz, 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 niggaz 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'

It's 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 till our numbers get called
The lifestyle of a hustler

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 till our numbers get called
The lifestyle of a hustler

I'm feelin' like death's 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
Cockroaches will not catch me laughin'

Skinny and slim fram y'all get it the same
Cool niggaz that'll spin out they waves
Grimey niggaz 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, niggaz 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 R O C

Poverty is a movie starrin' me
Ride with me, play the passenger seat
So, y'all can see how my life's so real
So, y'all can see how my life's so ill

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 till our numbers get called
The lifestyle of a hustler

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 till our numbers get called
The lifestyle of a hustler

Tales of a hustler that's me in the flesh
Got a Jag and a Caddy sellin' dimes of the step
Niggaz 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, got involved with the bricks
Not the ones made of semen but the ones you sniffs
Tales of a hustler, niggaz 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

Play the MP3 online for free!

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So Whatcha Gone Do Now? - Lyrics - Public Enemy

Title: So Whatcha Gone Do Now?
Artist: Public Enemy
Composer(s): Gary Devors, Gary Rinaldo, Carlton Ridenhour, Sean Devore

Lyric:
Talkin' dat drive by shit
Everybody talkin' dat gangsta shit
Talkin' dat drive by thang
Everybody talking dat gangsta swang

Slaves to the rhythm of the master
Buck boom buck another
Neighborhood disaster
(Drummer hit me one)

A gun iz a gun iz
A muther fuckin' gun
But an organized side
Keep a sellout niga on the run

What you gonna do to get paid?
Step on the rest of the hood
Till the drug raid

See you runnin' like roaches
Black gangstas need track coaches
The white law set you up raw
When you have his trust in killin' us

Talkin' dat gattalk, walkin' dat catwalk
Where you tryin' to go wit dat
Don't even go dere wit dat rap

Guns, drugs an' money
All you know how
So whatcha gonna do now?

I'm 'bout ready to bounce
Trouble on the corner of blunt ave
An 40 ounce, madd uncivilized lifestyles
30 years bids for kids, now that's wild

I'm raisin' my child
I'm steppin' to da curb
Wit a sign do not disturb

Too much don't give a fuck
Or a damn thing
But choose what the other man bring

I sing a song 'cause I see wrong
I'm not down with the fe fi fo
Where I come from
See, the brothers ain't dumb

Sense goes over nonsense
When it makes no sense
I'm throwin' up da fence

Talkin' dat drive by shit
Everybody talkin' dat gangsta shit
Talkin' dat drive by thang
Everybody talkin' dat gangsta swang

Talkin' dat gattalk, walkin' dat catwalk
Were you tryin' to go wit dat
Don't even go there wit dat rap

Guns, drugs and money
All you know how
So whatcha gone do now?

The only good niga iz a dead niga
Dats what they used to say

Can't understand why a man
Gotta use a trigga
On his own, suppose to act grown

Cracka in da back
Watch a brother pull a trigga on another brother
Couldn't shoot and shot a mother

Four kids alone home
Ungrown and now they on they own
Now check yourself cool
What good is da hood if ya actin' a fool
Talkin' dat gattalk, walkin' dat catwalk

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