Outro lyrics

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