Paul Prince - MC Hustler Lyrics

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Artist:	Paul Prince
Song Title:	MC Hustler
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f/ Horror City

Just an MC hustlin, hustlin (2x)

I'm just an MC hustlin, hustlin

Just an MC hustlin, hustlin

I'm a general, in this hip hop army, yeah

Highly ranked, thick like a tank

Well-equipped for niggas poppin shit

Rapifier, now plug the wire let's get down to it

I'm frustrated, uh, filled with anger

Feel like jumpin in the wash and just chill on the hanger

But uh, mama didn't raise no quitters

So uh, what you want and what you need I deliver

Chorus

Mass confusion, boozin, drug using

Got some winning some losing, is it real or an illusion?

I guess it's all a test, stress to paranoia

Slim, go get a lawyer, make him prove nobody saw ya

The clock struck the midnight hour, I hit the ?

I see my man Infinite pimpin shit for the team

The millionaires club, Republicans make it difficult

Kill or be killed's the result, I'm rollin up

The ?, drinkin ?, talkin sports

Herb smoke stimulates my thoughts

It took me deeper than the reaper's domain

To make it plain as hell

I left my spirit to dwell

But let my lyrics rebel

Documented on record to spark my ? brain cell

I kick a style like Bruce, rockin this rotten metropolis

Drugs, thugs and slugs, the scene it's so monotonous

One day it dawned on me as the time rolls by

That the same thing that makes you laugh makes you cry

Sometimes I feel I'm winnin, sinnin,

Sittin back in the MP, relax, talkin bout a new beginning

You see, I'm just an MC, I'm just an MC...

Chorus

I gotta get over, before I go under

I gotta get over, before I go under-privileged

Trapped deep beneath the sewage

I attend the University of Making Money

Five makes ten, ten makes twenty

Good n' plenty, keeps pockets from getting empty

Blunts get pulled, different day same bull

Shit, you can't own it, two (?) you manufacture it

Take away profit now tell me what you get

I got a size eight, a fried chicken dinner plate

I'm sellin dreams, you know, rhymes by the weight

Ten years of hustling, brung home the bacon, man

More scramblin than Moon and Cunningham

You know, money for the makin, maintainin

Hustlin, for the president, causin campaignin (?)

I'm just an MC, what I be?

Chorus

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