GFID Lyrics

Growing up I was told that you can be one of two things,
You can be a hustler or a gangster, but you can’t be both.
And essentially I chose I’d be a, a hustler,
‘cause

Since I’m young and I would cry, fear I wouldn’t make it,
Hold my head high, set goals and try to break ‘em,
Money on my mind and people wanna take it,
You had to hold your own and you’re young and I was grown.
College letters coming, but where do I enroll?
See the black cops pumping, I ain’t talking about no oil.
No honor what I saw, economy was slow,
Me and Smithy hit the vill, the bitches digging us like gold.
In the summer, it was cold, would’ve worked and no one knows,
You see, it was a job, but me and him, we hit the flow.
At the city sitting low, these niggers wanna roll,
They knew I had a work, so they were piling on the low,
From the day that I would know that I would be different,
Just a little junky on a mission to get it,
My vision, I was winning, couple years later and still they never finish.

Fresh in and lights out, throw chips and nights out,
Taking shots to success, the future is right now.
Ambition’s mine, trying to learn from my mistakes,
Survive the struggle, so I know they correlate.
If they understood my hustle all nights and facing bungles,
Got exams in the morning, but I swear I never fumble.
Years later and I’m way beyond the track,
They salute, ‘cause I’m busting on these tracks.
Marks on my jacket, undefeated on my bracket,
Losers don’t know fashion, they probably never catch it.
Try to make it classy, cross roads in this VA,
Waiting for my turn to take off, rely.
Watching all my people play chess in the DEA,
While the youngers held the block, call it PDA.
I ain’t trying to make it rain, try to make a change,
Make enough so my daughter never live the same.

But now they know, now they know,
Once you hit one, knock ‘em all down, dominos.
Bamenos, ride along the coast with the work in the hootie,
I swear it was a ghost, try to catch me, but they don’t.
Wanna fire, watch ‘em roast, now I’m living out my dreams,
They’re barely living out their post.
Wiling with the toast, g, ain’t ride it any close,
My team came up off that loud, said we’re styling off the booze.
Look at my shirt and shoes and top money,
Just sappy hills, watching the world funny.
Panomaric dream through, panoramic screens.
Mock it in the greed, but these hustles in my jeans.
We struggle too long just to stay down,
From that little snotty nose on the playground.
Now everybody knows we don’t play around,
Married to the money, you’re opposed to sit now.