Heart Of A Hustler (Screwed) - H.A.W.K., Kay-K, Lil Keke

Where the guns clack-clack, and they love Fat Pat

Where them boys from the ghetto, put the South on the map

Before my world come to an end, I go and cop me a Benz

600, ride around and get blunted

All my past enemies, they gon get hunted

Make love to my woman, she get it how she want it

Take my kids to Disney World, like I won the Superbowl

Plus I beat my court case, because a loop hole

Exotic flavors, always keep the fruit rolled

My bulletproof block shots, like Manute Bol

You can’t hit me, be in Houston like I’m Whitney

Spear you like Brittany, put a knife in your kidney

Godfather run game, like the Globetrotters

I should run for President, like I’m Jimmy Carter

Over the waters, coke smuggled through the harbors

In the states we transport it through somebody’s daughter

Before my world comes to an end, I’m going out with my men

Screwed Up Click, setting a trend

In the Lex or the Benz, steady spending the ends

Getting up with yellow bones, have ‘em calling they friends

Before my world ends, I wanna push a pearl Benz

On 20 inch Lorenz, that spin like whirlwinds

Hugging my girlfriend, that’s black and plastic

And she doesn’t mind, putting these haters in caskets

Put a cheddar to cheese, and velveeta I mash quick

I came in this game, first round draft pick

Taking your bitches, making my riches

Bracelets frostbit, so you can skate on my wristses

Pretty hoes see me pull up, in 4.6's

And that’s when they get mad, wishing it was two Chris’s

On tracks I’m vicious, untamed and malicious

In they face, blowing up like air bags and bubble-licious

Serving you flows, like Papa Deauxxx main dishes

Getting funds by the tons, while the dope game switches

I make it senseless, to end up dead or in the FED

When I can spit lyrical heroin, and make bread

You bitches pathetic, you niggas polished synthetic

Cake mix and flour, make up your genetics

Call the paramedics, shit’s about to get hectic

Fin to light up your spot, like General Electric

Dead End Texas, the best with pitched bird

I done flooded the Suburb', with fifty featherless birds

My game blast superb, Gucci shoes and Iceberg

Since it’s all about the End, I have the urge to splurge

It’s lunch time, you on the bench at crunch time

And one rhyme, can hit you on the punch line

My bullets defy gravity, bust through your chest cavity

With pen point actually, I restructure your anamity

More vultures than I bury, I can cause a catastrophe

Arenas filled to capacity, and you have the audacity

I’ll kill your next-a-kin, be hard to apprehend

Turning corners in the Benz, my world has come to an end

(talking)

Yo, before we leave this world playboy

We gon live it up you dig, me and Big H.A.W.K

Under Hawk’s Wings, In God’s Hands Records

Godfather forever you dig, 2000 shit you know I mean

H-Town put it down, Dirty South put it in ya mouth

Y’all niggas don’t want no war, we them ill niggas