The Hustle by Mr. Fritz Lyrics
(Mr. Fritz Verse 1)
They say the best lessons? Stay on ya green like French dressing/
Don't move weight if you hurt ya arms bench pressing/
Police be pleading for reasons to gets to squeezing at us/
And wonder why we don't speak to em when they need to capture/
They suspects, got much stress, I'm leaning/
On liquor and marijuana just trying to dodge my demons/
Wish i could do it legally, it's truly a thought/
Might be a corpse before I'm hearing opportunity knock/
I been a savage since a youth/
Done lost a lotta homies to them cannons for the loot/
Now lots of eyes are on me cause I'm handing them the truth/
This hustle a cold game/
In pursuit of gold chains and things, we slang and bang/
Not too religious, but if the Lord forgiving me, thanks/
And karma's a bitch, my memory banks/
Is full of nightmares and sins/
For Nike airs and gin/
Rep of a boss, i take it as acceptable loss/
I got lavish habits, ambitions to smash the baddest rabbits/
But pretty bitches isn't hearing that minimum wage/
So I'm a handle my business, get my hands on them riches/
And scramble any mother fucker that gets in my way/
This everyday a nigga rolling the dice on my freedom/
But for that greening, it's a risk I'm a take/
I keep my eyes on the prize until i rise to the skies/
A rough rider, I'm a ride till i die it's for the love of the hustle/
(Chorus)
It's for the love of the hustle
It's for the love of the...
It's for the love of the hustle
(Chilla Jones verse 2)
I was told growing up I had the wrong idols/
The way they towered on the block was beyond Eiffel/
Way back when Stone Cold was Stunning Shawn Michaels/
With nothing but tall tees up in the wash cycle/
The law stifled the block (ugh)/
I saw fights between the dealers moving hard white for the gwap/
I used to watch the cop squad car lights from the top...floor/
And see the struggle firsthand it was hard...core/
Working this 9-5 cause I need money/
Knowing this paycheck ain't equal to the street money/
So if you ever heard a nigga getting weed from me/
It's just to give my daughter everything she needs from me/
Dedicated father...dropped out of 9th grade/
But I'm educated, though I never made it farther/
Man make the money, money never made the man/
But I'm getting money everyday anyway I can/
It's the hustle
(Chorus)
(Verse 3)
(Mr. Fritz)
It is what it is, this soundtrack of life when i cue the score/
With a hunger i can't contain with this music, boy/
It's either this, get a jumper, start moving raw/
Or put a mask on for ya ring, like a luchador/
(Chilla Jones)
Fuck you think we hooping for? Losing ain't sensible/
Hustle is what they pretend to do and I could sense the bull/
Think you invincible? My niggas catch you by your bae's side/
And make your bell ding off principal/
(Mr. Fritz)
I'm a paint the visual, fly individual/
Used to salt fries now i grind with my niggas who/
Been there since day one, of I'm eating share the dinner plate/
With niggas had em fucking with the rock before triple h/
(Chilla Jones)
From the bottom to the top...sell it to the addicts/
Hustler, moving drugs from the cellar to the attic/
Wanna see it rain money no umbrella no jacket/
Till I'm dead up in a casket...it's for the love of the hustle
(Chorus)
They say the best lessons? Stay on ya green like French dressing/
Don't move weight if you hurt ya arms bench pressing/
Police be pleading for reasons to gets to squeezing at us/
And wonder why we don't speak to em when they need to capture/
They suspects, got much stress, I'm leaning/
On liquor and marijuana just trying to dodge my demons/
Wish i could do it legally, it's truly a thought/
Might be a corpse before I'm hearing opportunity knock/
I been a savage since a youth/
Done lost a lotta homies to them cannons for the loot/
Now lots of eyes are on me cause I'm handing them the truth/
This hustle a cold game/
In pursuit of gold chains and things, we slang and bang/
Not too religious, but if the Lord forgiving me, thanks/
And karma's a bitch, my memory banks/
Is full of nightmares and sins/
For Nike airs and gin/
Rep of a boss, i take it as acceptable loss/
I got lavish habits, ambitions to smash the baddest rabbits/
But pretty bitches isn't hearing that minimum wage/
So I'm a handle my business, get my hands on them riches/
And scramble any mother fucker that gets in my way/
This everyday a nigga rolling the dice on my freedom/
But for that greening, it's a risk I'm a take/
I keep my eyes on the prize until i rise to the skies/
A rough rider, I'm a ride till i die it's for the love of the hustle/
(Chorus)
It's for the love of the hustle
It's for the love of the...
It's for the love of the hustle
(Chilla Jones verse 2)
I was told growing up I had the wrong idols/
The way they towered on the block was beyond Eiffel/
Way back when Stone Cold was Stunning Shawn Michaels/
With nothing but tall tees up in the wash cycle/
The law stifled the block (ugh)/
I saw fights between the dealers moving hard white for the gwap/
I used to watch the cop squad car lights from the top...floor/
And see the struggle firsthand it was hard...core/
Working this 9-5 cause I need money/
Knowing this paycheck ain't equal to the street money/
So if you ever heard a nigga getting weed from me/
It's just to give my daughter everything she needs from me/
Dedicated father...dropped out of 9th grade/
But I'm educated, though I never made it farther/
Man make the money, money never made the man/
But I'm getting money everyday anyway I can/
It's the hustle
(Chorus)
(Verse 3)
(Mr. Fritz)
It is what it is, this soundtrack of life when i cue the score/
With a hunger i can't contain with this music, boy/
It's either this, get a jumper, start moving raw/
Or put a mask on for ya ring, like a luchador/
(Chilla Jones)
Fuck you think we hooping for? Losing ain't sensible/
Hustle is what they pretend to do and I could sense the bull/
Think you invincible? My niggas catch you by your bae's side/
And make your bell ding off principal/
(Mr. Fritz)
I'm a paint the visual, fly individual/
Used to salt fries now i grind with my niggas who/
Been there since day one, of I'm eating share the dinner plate/
With niggas had em fucking with the rock before triple h/
(Chilla Jones)
From the bottom to the top...sell it to the addicts/
Hustler, moving drugs from the cellar to the attic/
Wanna see it rain money no umbrella no jacket/
Till I'm dead up in a casket...it's for the love of the hustle
(Chorus)