[00:00.00] 作词 : Ambrosius, Elizondo, Jones ...
[00:02.94]Artist: Nas f/ The Game
[00:04.18]Album: Hip Hop is Dead
[00:05.55]Song: Hustlers
[00:05.93]Dre, he a Compton-Compton O.G.
[00:07.99]Nas, he a QB-QB true G
[00:10.36]Do the history
[00:11.29]Way before The Firm, like back in the day
[00:13.73]Nas was the first New York nigga rappin' with Dr
[00:16.30]So of course I got a track to bring it back to your face
[00:19.30]The one kid that would've been Aftermath that got away
[00:21.79]But we still get together like every several years
[00:24.35]to sprinkle, a little bit of Heaven for your ears
[00:27.34]Relax sippin' Calico in Rio, stupid mother****er
[00:29.34]Low-key, know G's, but it's still Gucci luggage
[00:32.72]I love Cape Cod, and watchin' fly niggas with grey eye
[00:35.71]wrestle in a tub of KY to get my day by
[00:38.46]I like to celebrate, why? - 'cause I can vision
[00:40.83]collages and images of my lies with no regret to hate
[00:43.46]So every breath I take, is all about the rules
[00:46.20]It's hard for you to breathe like you at high altitude
[00:49.07]So crack the Patr�, it's on heathens, The God's back
[00:51.94]Hard body, Mr. Jones never leavin'
[00:53.95]
[00:54.51]Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
[00:56.88]Make that cake, cop two five fivers
[00:59.50]Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
[01:02.25]East to West Coast we riders
[01:04.93]（The Game）
[01:05.37]
[01:16.24]He a Compton-Compton O.G.
[01:17.79]（Mix that with a QB-QB true G）
[01:20.41]（What you got's） A concoction of some different ghetto blocks
[01:23.67]（West Coast kill the tracks） East Coast gunshots
[01:25.42]
[01:37.63]1995, eleven years from the day
[01:40.38]I'm in the record shop with choices to make
[01:43.18]"Illmatic" on the top shelf, "The Chronic" on the left homie
[01:45.74]Wanna cop both but only got a twenty on me
[01:48.49]So **** it, I stole both, spent the twenty on a dub sac
[01:51.35]Ripped the package off "Illmatic" and bumped that
[01:53.55]For my niggas it was too complex when Nas rhyme
[01:56.28]I was the only Compton nigga with a "New York State of Mind
[01:59.35]Inside the shit house bottlin' up sherm, bangin' The Fir
[02:01.85]Dre was king then so I waited my turn
[02:04.09]Fast forward, now I'm makin 'em burn
[02:05.71]Ended my peers careers, hollered at Nas, a hard lesson was learned
[02:09.08]So I reconciled my differences like he did with Jigga
[02:12.20]I stopped beefin' with niggas, 'cause I'm "Ether" to nigga
[02:14.82]Comb the earth 'til there's no one left
[02:16.81]If I Ruled the World I summons all you weak rap niggas to deat
[02:20.81]（The Game）
[02:21.81]He a Compton-Compton O.G.
[02:22.55]（Mix that with a QB-QB true G）
[02:24.74]（What you got's） A concoction of some different ghetto blocks
[02:27.49]（West Coast kill the tracks） East Coast gunshots
[02:30.74]Yo, the Jordans sportin'
[02:32.73]Come off the dice game with a fortune walkin', you a walkin' coffin'
[02:36.91]The musket I tucked it, you bluff it I bust it
[02:39.72]You're sideways talkin', so I lay often
[02:42.47]I wait patient, to duct tape hatin'
[02:44.90]**** ass niggas, get bucked ass nigga
[02:47.02]Pluck ashes - of Cuban cigars, you foolin' with Nas
[02:48.83]That's my name and I came with Rugers this time
[02:51.15]And if I'm sane that "Soul Plane" movie's the bomb
[02:55.25]Word to my mom's name tattooed to my arm
[02:57.44]You can't revolve me, embalm me, calm me or harm me
[03:01.12]Rob me or dodge these bullets I'm bustin'
[03:03.49]See that's malarky you yappin'
[03:04.49]I open up the tripod to put the gatling on, and I start clappin'
[03:07.67]
[03:09.01]Nasty man, from baggin' grams and runnin' from cops
[03:11.76]To a mill' on the hand, a mill' on the watch, I'm ****in' with Do
[03:14.81]Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
[03:17.12]Make that cake, cop two five fivers
[03:19.86]Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
[03:22.68]East to West Coast we ridin'

作词 : Ambrosius, Elizondo, Jones ...
Artist: Nas f/ The Game
Album: Hip Hop is Dead
Song: Hustlers
Dre, he a Compton-Compton O.G.
Nas, he a QB-QB true G
Do the history
Way before The Firm, like back in the day
Nas was the first New York nigga rappin' with Dr
So of course I got a track to bring it back to your face
The one kid that would've been Aftermath that got away
But we still get together like every several years
to sprinkle, a little bit of Heaven for your ears
Relax sippin' Calico in Rio, stupid mother****er
Low-key, know G's, but it's still Gucci luggage
I love Cape Cod, and watchin' fly niggas with grey eye
wrestle in a tub of KY to get my day by
I like to celebrate, why? - 'cause I can vision
collages and images of my lies with no regret to hate
So every breath I take, is all about the rules
It's hard for you to breathe like you at high altitude
So crack the Patr�, it's on heathens, The God's back
Hard body, Mr. Jones never leavin'
Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coast we riders
（The Game）
He a Compton-Compton O.G.
（Mix that with a QB-QB true G）
（What you got's） A concoction of some different ghetto blocks
（West Coast kill the tracks） East Coast gunshots
1995, eleven years from the day
I'm in the record shop with choices to make
"Illmatic" on the top shelf, "The Chronic" on the left homie
Wanna cop both but only got a twenty on me
So **** it, I stole both, spent the twenty on a dub sac
Ripped the package off "Illmatic" and bumped that
For my niggas it was too complex when Nas rhyme
I was the only Compton nigga with a "New York State of Mind
Inside the shit house bottlin' up sherm, bangin' The Fir
Dre was king then so I waited my turn
Fast forward, now I'm makin 'em burn
Ended my peers careers, hollered at Nas, a hard lesson was learned
So I reconciled my differences like he did with Jigga
I stopped beefin' with niggas, 'cause I'm "Ether" to nigga
Comb the earth 'til there's no one left
If I Ruled the World I summons all you weak rap niggas to deat
（The Game）
He a Compton-Compton O.G.
（Mix that with a QB-QB true G）
（What you got's） A concoction of some different ghetto blocks
（West Coast kill the tracks） East Coast gunshots
Yo, the Jordans sportin'
Come off the dice game with a fortune walkin', you a walkin' coffin'
The musket I tucked it, you bluff it I bust it
You're sideways talkin', so I lay often
I wait patient, to duct tape hatin'
**** ass niggas, get bucked ass nigga
Pluck ashes - of Cuban cigars, you foolin' with Nas
That's my name and I came with Rugers this time
And if I'm sane that "Soul Plane" movie's the bomb
Word to my mom's name tattooed to my arm
You can't revolve me, embalm me, calm me or harm me
Rob me or dodge these bullets I'm bustin'
See that's malarky you yappin'
I open up the tripod to put the gatling on, and I start clappin'
Nasty man, from baggin' grams and runnin' from cops
To a mill' on the hand, a mill' on the watch, I'm ****in' with Do
Hustlers, dealers, drop-top riders
Make that cake, cop two five fivers
Pimps and players, platinum diamonds
East to West Coast we ridin'