Marsha Ambrosius - Hustlers lyrics

[Intro: Nas] Dre, he a Compton-Compton OG 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 n***a 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 f**ers Low-key, no G's, but it's still Gucci luggage I love Cape Cod, and watching fly b**hes 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 Patron, it's on heathens The God's back, hard body, Mr. Jones never leavin' [Hook: Marsha] Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders Make that cake, cop two five fivers Pimps and players, platinum diamonds East to West Coast, we riders [Bridge: Nas + (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 k** the tracks, East Coast gunshots) [Verse 2: Game] 1995, eleven years from today 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 f** it, I stole both, spent the 20 on a dub sack Ripped the package off Illmatic and bumped that For my n***as it was too complex when Nas rhymed I was the only Compton n***a 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 n***as, ‘cause I'm "Ether" to n***as Comb the earth 'til there's no one left If I ruled the world I summons all you weak rap n***as to d**h [Bridge: Nas + (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 k** the tracks, East Coast gunshots) [Hook: Marsha] Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders Make that cake, cop two five fivers Pimps and players, platinum diamonds East to West Coast, we riders [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' f** a** n***as, get bucked a** n***as 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 mil on the hand, a mil on the watch, I'm f**in' with Doc [Hook: Marsha] Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders Make that cake, cop two five fivers Pimps and players, platinum diamonds East to West Coast, we riders