Hustling All I Can Do

Man life be a trip, I never knew thangs could ever get
Bad as it got, no number 17 shot Glock with extra clips
That's it I'm going all out, and if I die then remember me
Cause in these last days, I'm feeling like I'ma hit the penitentiary
For real, trying to deal with this everyday struggle
You gotta get up, up off your rump baby and hustle
I tussle, work my muscle and boss hog
Take what's mine, and still screaming fuck y'all
If I can't ball, they better lock me up
Shackle down handcuffed, on sight I'ma bust
What's up, waking up I get rushed to the head
Thug for life, motherfucker 'til I'm dead
Mr. 3-2, boss of all bosses
And I ain't, tolerating no losses
And no excuses, cause this world is so trife
Street game forever, and it's like that for life nigga

Will I ever see the stage again
Radio DJ's, don't respect my rythm
Feeling like I'm finna hit the pen again
What will I do for food
Living in the ghetto, turning boys to men
Crooked cops and killers, interrupt my mission
Tell me will I ever grip my pen again
Hustling is all I can do

I was born on a fucked up day, had to be holidays
With nothing but frowns on my face, the sadness brought madness
To a family that was built, unconsciously I love them
But subconsciously, running these streets living cautiously
It's costing me way too much, but the slums got me
Jacking niggas worth something, seclude before I hurt something
Inhale exhale, okay
I promise things gon get better, just give me one more day
So I can work my jelly, spread the love around
Swallow so much shit it hurt my belly, but trying to stay down
Stay focused on what I'm trying to accomplish, and not be a accomplice
Stay real pay dues, and don't become a victim of some mob shit
I never let this misery, push me to do something that I regret
But just know that you in danger, I want you to feel my anger
And if I ever feel like I'm in danger, I'ma empty the chamber

Will I ever see the stage again
Radio DJ's, don't respect my rythm
Feeling like I'm finna hit the pen again
What will I do for food
Living in the ghetto, turning boys to men
Crooked cops and killers, interrupt my mission
Tell me will I ever grip my pen again
Hustling is all I can do

These motherfuckers want me dead, at least that's how it seems to be
An army of motherfuckers, against me Dean and E
Who you gon call when my cumbroderie, comes down like rain
Nothing but revenge to keep me sane, it ain't nothing like pain
Cause when I squeeze and then you bleed, satisfaction is guaranteed
Black hearted ever since the first murder, how precious is my breathe
Enemies, fuck all my foes fuck all my friends
Unless I'm in the pen, I've got nobody to call my kin
Cause all the real niggas, are dead or in jail
But I've been left to struggle for success
Trying to get a check from Southwest Wholesale
Look at all the 16's that I've wrecked, and I'm practically poor
On top of that I'm homeless, my niggas don't want me no more
Nigga finna tend to get in, these
Motherfuckers act like they don't know my face
Better remember I'm quick to click
Nigga don't act like you don't know my pace
But fuck rapping, I need some right now money it's getting crucial
If I pay my pen, I gotta wait three months
But trade me scratch for lunch money

Late night the sirens seem so loud
I hope that I can lose this crowd
Lately, it go down that way
That's why a nigga quick to get the K and spray
We could of been so throwed together
But because of a shortage, on my cheddar
I had to get up, and bleed the block
And it don't stop

Will I ever see the stage again
Radio DJ's, don't respect my rythm
Feeling like I'm finna hit the pen again
What will I do for food
Living in the ghetto, turning boys to men
Crooked cops and killers, interrupt my mission
Tell me will I ever grip my pen again
Hustling is all I can do