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    Backbone / Lyrics

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    "Believe That" Lyrics

    Backbone feat. Slimm Calhoun and Big Gipp

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    [Chorus: x2]
    Never let the money and these broads break us
    We right here till the Lord take us
    We act a fool cause the laws make us
    Baby, you can't stop the hustle'

    You walk your ass 'cross my yard, get off my grass
    You want to get to that money, get off yo' ass
    You wants to know my name, you wants to ask
    If you want to see me for something, it's going cost ya cash
    I see ya poking outcha jeans girl you acting bad
    Oh, do that again with you nasty ass
    I caught her coming out the mall, with 2 or 3 bags
    Now shorty got her at the wood shack, throwing her back
    Champagne, chicken wings, and bubble bath
    Catch me somewhere outta town signing autographs
    Still working street corners, straight serving them blacks
    Them thirty-two fifth it for four and a half
    I prefer a Chevrolet, when it's time to mash
    And I smoke the 'dro weed, a hundred dollars a sack
    I put up the big numbers nigga, check the stats
    And I'm on the microphone with Gipp, Slimm, and Cass

    [Chorus: x2]

    [Big Gipp]
    Since the trashman only run once a week
    If I miss it, I'm wait 'til night and dump it up the street,
    behind the Winn-Dixie
    Quiver, never step or kept up his penny drawers
    To get an applause, appeared to have no flaws
    In the situation, no dentition, smelling good
    But I ain't gonna feel her, touching up would be too easy

    Sleazy, measly, looking ugly like a person trying to sell me a dub
    Fool A, see, D, and me
    Trees ain't my reason for sending your ass to grave and
    Watch you say the grade is,
    Burn like acid reflux, somebone'll order up the Pheffer chickens
    While I order up a smoked duck (Thank You)
    Get the gas to go, at the corner sto'
    Keep my hand on the nine piece
    In case somebody want to disturb the peace (Always keeping my eyes open)
    Cause you, can't, stop the hustle

    [Chorus: x2]

    [Slimm Calhoun]
    Well I'm known for my shine, Southside
    Eyes on the prize, it's Mr. Fly Guy
    Mobbing, '68 Chevy, door vault ties
    Jumped out mugging like I'm holding twenty pies
    Rocked up, work on the block,
    We keep it, chopped up in the spot, in the pot
    Where we keep it, stocked up from the Frosty Flakes
    To the chickens in the cake
    If I drop it on the tool, it must be weight
    Went with two and a quarter, came back with eight
    Let Juke lick the plate, I re-rock the shape
    Like it hot in the kitchen nigga, oven on bake
    Got gorillas with banana clips, who love to go apes
    Southpaw, side-strapped, known to leave yellow tape
    Try and stop the hustle and crushed like grapes
    Just for the taste, just for the taste

    [Chorus: x4]

    Uh-uh (Uh-huh)
    Baby, you can't stop the hustle'
    This song was submitted on November 17th, 2013 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Andre Benjamin, Cameron F Gipp, Brian Loving, Antwan Patton, David A Sheats, Jamahr Williams.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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