Baby Bash - Outro lyrics

rate me

Yeah

Hustler's theme

Worldwide

Come on

All money ain't good money

Stack your chips

Let it flip like some hood money

Cock them rims

Let 'em spin on them haters, man

And all the players

Worldwide, do your thug thang (The hustler's theme)

All money ain't good money

Stack your chips

Let it flip like some hood money

Cock them rims

Let 'em spin on them haters, man

And all the players

Worldwide, do your thug thang

I take a slow beat (Slow beat)

And spit a hard rap (Hard rap)

Pobre, I ain't retarded, you know we off that (Off that)

From the west, my brother, to the east

Back down

To the diggy dirty for sherzy (What the feezy?)

Now I walk around like I got a rock in my sock

When it's just a limb, from this money right in my pocket

Pimp

I know you smell it cause it's gettin' you naucious

Cause the shit I'm layin' on this track is Brown as the Foxy's

I'm the done dealer

Don Dadda, fresh out of Guatemala

Some say, "Bash, you the shit"

In Spanish, I'm the dada

It's the million dollar Mexi, the mack, God he done bless me

Girls wanna caress me, like I'm Elvis Presley

It don't stop

Straight to the top til the game lock

You know I gotta rep for my hood and my block

Stackin' up my bread, make me stand a little taller

Collectin' my winnings without punching no glocks

The game's gettin' hard, so I gotta get smarter

Watching out for cops, cause my homies got knocked

Drought seas in our cheer, but my pocket's ain't starvin'

That's why I stay chargin'

You know we won't stop

This is for my heavyweighters

Pullin' strings like elevators

Where my ops in full swing, I'll be standing on top of skyscrapers

Seventy stories or more

Eventually the public'll

Know my story, fa' sho

Make a household

Name out of Don Cisco

Go from a hustler

Born and grind, tryin' to find some dough

To the billion dollar

Boy club

Mexicali thug style

I got

Money to get back, I'm fresh off the drug drought

FED's couldn't stop me, head shots didn't pop me

Wouldn't lock, never got me, I'm the same player, still cocky

Bossed out

Hoppin' out of the drought

Lookin' flossed out, everything chopped, even the crop

Believe I'm the don, listen, everything I'm breathing on

Represent west side til the rider in me's dead and gone

Me and Bash do things

Butch Cassidy, sing

Let 'em know it's all know, the cash prestine

Come on

Ain't nobody gonna stop me now

I'm gonna do everything I can

And ain't nobody gonna stop my flow

You gonna hear me from coast to coast

But

Somebody's gonna make me mad

And I'm a take everything they have

So put it all in the past

And do it so quick, so fast

Homeboy

I got the grid locked

That good yatch, gone breezes

And they serve rock

Some motherfuckers can't caught blocks

Trey hop

Roley bezel for you got swapped

You like spider monkey, Nino Brown's sasquatch

Them little haters, they be tickling me

Brush 'em off, like the dust, on my Stacy, homie

Once again, it's that motherfuckin' Mexican with attitude

Paid my dues

Steady, grindin' through the avenues

Dogder blue, homie

The city that I represent

Los Scandulous, city where my homies did

Fuck a fed

Keep 'em Presidential stacked up

Hear what I said, little soldiers gettin' taxed up

Back the fuck up, move, biotch

Get out the way

You know the set, holmes

And my

A. stompin'

Walkin' in my big brown boots

Flossin'

Stankin' eagle, that's my roots

Motherfucker

Now put your money where your mouth is, anybody who doubt this

Wherever you see the westside, that's probably where the south is

United like a gang truce, khakis pants and house shoes

But out in the Yay, it's throwbacks, beanies and bulletproof

Spinners in their mouthpiece, heat up, and the old school

Funk jump, no questions asked, ride like we supposed to

Up in my city, see the bridge and the fall

Know where the place on earth to be, than where this real turn off

I'm smashing off a side show, but money must come first

This ain't no overnight choice, I'm been a hustler since birth

They call me Mr. Kee, the Latin boss

Latin king, Latin don

Spittin' like the Latin play, tryin' to put his Latins on

And they say money is the root of all evil

But there ain't nothing in this world to make me cross up my people

I swear to God, I'll be a soldier til I'm six in the dirt

My Henny bottle in my casket and a fist full of words

The hustler's theme