*(J Von)*
Now if ya all in wit me
*(C Loc)*
Come an get me wit some hin
*(J Von)*
An a fifty an it stick it in
*(C Loc)*
Let this begin
*(J Von)*
Like 10 to the 9
*(C Loc)*
To the 5 4 3
*(J Von)*
They ain't knowin what this camp life means to meee!
Verse 1 *(Maxminelli)*
I'm still a hustla
an we know this
then you need to quote this on the front page
true that
never two
on paper view,
wit the blunt blazed,
last time you heard us rhyme,
we came out tacklin po-po's,
now we surely stackin chips,
but we ain't packagin no doe,
see the ho-bos an fiends,
they can't get down wit the team,
oh yeah we bout cream,
but the colors, mostly green,
so brace yourself,
I'm a take yo wealth,
an leave you traumatized,
bonified hustla,
from out the backwoods of the country side.
Verse 2 *(J-Von)*
So southside hustlaz throw yo hands in the air,
eastside, westside, northside dont care,
over there, over here,
(what?)
same thing everywhere you go,
it's real,
once they waited fo the,
bustaz that hear me know we,
even them guns,
an they ready to throw it,
I hope I see a nice night for bein this ghetto poet,
ya know it,
so it's like me,
I'm a play the game rough,
an like to tear sumpthin up,
sick shit nigga what?!
Chorus *(J-Von)*
Man fuck y'all niggaz,
man fuck y'all bitches,
we got the money an switches,
but ya can't get wit us,
cuz we the Sickess.
Man fuck
