Lyrics Hustlers - Nas
Yeah...
Dre,
he
a
Compton,
Compton
O.G.
Nas,
he
a
QB,
QB
true
G,
do
the
history.
Way
before
The
Firm,
like
back
in
the
day,
Nas
was
the
first
New
York
nigga
rappin'
with
Dre,
So
of
course
I
got
a
track
to
bring
it
back
to
your
face,
The
one
kid
that
would
have
been
Aftermath
but
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
fuckers,
Low
key
know
G's
but
it's
still
Gucci
luggage,
I
love
Cape
Cod,
and
watching
fly
bitches
with
gray
eyes,
Wrestle
in
a
tub
of
KY
to
get
my
day
by,
I
like
to
celebrate,
why?
'cause
I
can
vision,
Collages
of
images
of
my
lives
with
no
regrets
or
hate,
So
every
breath
I
take,
Is
all
about
the
rules,
It's
hard
for
you
to
breath
like
you
at
high
altitude,
So
crack
the
Patrone,
it's
own
heavens,
The
God's
back,
hard
body,
Mr.
Jones
never
leavin!
Hustlers,
dealers,
drop-top
riders,
Make
that
cake,
cop
25 5ers,
Pimps
& players,
platinum
diamonds,
East
to
West
Coast
we
riders,
Hustlers,
dealers,
drop-top
riders,
Make
that
cake,
cop
25 5ers
Pimps
& players,
platinum
diamonds,
East
to
West
Coast
then
O.V.
Nas:
He
a
Compton
Compton
O.G.
The
Game:
Mix
that
with
a
QB
QB
true
G
What
ya
got's
a
Nas:
concoxion
of
some
different
ghetto
blocks
The
Game:
Westcoast
kill
the
tracks,
Eastcoast
gunshots
Nas:
He
a
Compton
Compton
O.G.
The
Game:
Mix
that
with
a
QB
QB
true
G
What
ya
got's
a
Nas:
concoxion
of
some
different
ghetto
blocks
The
Game:
Westcoast
kill
the
tracks,
Eastcoast
gun...
*shot
sound*
1995,
eleven
years
from
the
day,
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
twenty
on
me,
So
fuck
it,
I
stole
both,
spent
the
twenty
on
a
dub-sack,
Ripped
the
package
of
Illmatic
and
bumped
that,
For
my
niggas
it
was
too
complex
when
Nas
rhyme,
I
was
the
only
Compton
nigga
with
a
New
York
state
of
mind,
Inside
the
dope
house,
bottlin'
up
sherm,
Banging
The
Firm,
Dre
was
king
then
so
I
waited
my
turn,
Fast-forward
now
I'm
makin'
'em
burn,
Endin'
my
peers
careers,
holla'd
at
Nas,
a
hard
lesson
was
learned,
So
I
reconciled
my
differences
like
he
did
with
Jigga,
I
stopped
beefin'
with
niggas,
'cause
I'm
Ether
to
niggas,
Comb
the
Earth
'till
there's
no-one
left,
If
I
ruled
the
world
I'd
summons
all
you
weak
rap
niggas
to
death,
Nas:
He
a
Compton
Compton
O.G.
The
Game:
Mix
that
with
a
QB
QB
true
G
What
ya
got's
a
Nas:
concoxion
of
some
different
ghetto
blocks
The
Game:
Westcoast
kill
the
tracks,
Eastcoast
gunshots
Nas:
He
a
Compton
Compton
O.G.
The
Game:
Mix
that
with
a
QB
QB
true
G
What
ya
got's
a
Nas:
concoxion
of
some
different
ghetto
blocks
The
Game:
Westcoast
kill
the
tracks,
Eastcoast
gun
*shot
sound*
Yo,
the
Jordan's
sportin',
Come
off
the
dice
game
with
a
fortune
walkin',
you
a
walkin'
coffin,
The
musket,
I
tucked
it,
you
bluff
it,
I
bus'
it,
You're
sideways
talkin',
so
why
lay
off
him,
I
wait
patient,
to
duct-tape
hatin',
Fuck
ass
niggas
get
bucked,
ass
niggas,
Pluck
ashes,
of
Cuban
cigars,
you
foolin'
with
Nas,
That's
our
name,
and
I
came,
with
groupies
this
time,
And
if
I'm
sayin'
that,
Soul
Plane
movies
the
bomb,
(?)
Word
to
my
Mom's
name
tattooed
on
my
arm,
You
can't
revolve
me,
embalm
me,
call
me,
or
harm
me,
Rob
me
or
dodge
these
bullets
I'm
bustin',
See
that's
malarkey,
you
yappin',
I
open
up
the
tripod,
to
put
the
Gatlin
on,
and
I
start
clappin',
Nasty
man
from
baggin'
grams
and
runnin'
from
cops,
To
a
mil
in
the
hand,
a
mil
on
the
watch,
I'm
fuckin'
with
Doc!
Hustlers,
dealers,
drop-top
riders
Make
that
cake,
cop
25 5ers
Pimps
& players,
platinum
diamonds
East
to
West
Coast
we
riders
Hustlers,
dealers,
drop-top
riders
Make
that
cake,
cop
25 5ers
Pimps
& players,
platinum
diamonds
East
to
West
Coast
then
O.V.
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