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    DJ Melo-Mix / Lyrics

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    "1-900-Hustler" Lyrics

    DJ Melo-Mix feat. Jay-Z

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    1-900-Hustler, Sigel, holla at your boy
    What's the problem shorty?

    Yeah what up man
    I'm the only nigga from Brooklyn out here man
    I'm tryin to lock the spot down, holla at me

    Alright, hold on, Hova, line one

    Here's a couple of suggestions of how you could finesse it
    You find a dude in town, you send him a short message
    Say, "Hey, I'm new in town, I don't know my way around
    But I got some soft white that's sure to come back brown
    I get that butter all night
    Cause most niggaz don't know a brick from a bike
    They keep buyin hard white
    And if you free tomorrow night we can meet and discuss price
    FYI, I never been robbed in my life"
    Or, you find a chick, shit, you hole up in her crib and
    Let her introduce you 'round town like her man
    Shake hands, make friends like it's all innocent
    Then, before they look up you sellin the town cook-up
    Or, gorilla pimp, come up on that killer shit
    Take a nigga brick, smack him, then you sell it back to them
    Still there Brooklyn?

    Yeah yeah that's gangsta, I think I'ma roll with that one

    Make out a check for eight hundred dollars
    Jigga Man, holla

    1-900-Hustler, Sigel, holla at your boy
    Whassup Sig? This Chris out the Young Guns dog
    I'm ready to smash these niggaz in the rap game
    The niggaz takin too long with that advance money and shit
    Talkin 'bout chill, chill don't pay the bills
    Yeah I feel that
    I know you well connected dog
    Let me holla at somebody real
    Aight look, I got the perfect person for you, hold on
    Bleek, line two

    Listen shorty, you wanna roll just give me the word
    I ain't got time for a sentence all that shit is absurd
    You find a strip first, if you don't cook find a bitch first
    If you don't hustle find a nigga who pitch first
    You new in town, no red and blue in town, there's gangs
    Don't get fresh, let 'em know you small change
    The strong move quiet, the weak start riots
    We know you got a brick but sell 'em twenties til they tired
    With no credit, you know you sick with that gotta eat fetish
    And other niggaz who gettin it, dead it
    Make 'em an offer that they can't refuse
    He resists, box him in, til he can't be moved
    Here's the rules: chop it, bag it, stash it, stack it
    Get in, get out, that's a O.G.'s classic
    900-Hustler, you pass it around
    Wanna speak to me direct, hit extension trey-pound, I'm out

    1-900-Hustler, Sigel, holla at your dog
    What seem to be the problem young boy?
    Yo whattup, this Murder Def Kill Homicide Nigga
    I got two freaks
    Yo watch your fuckin mouth man
    Fuck you mean watch my mouth nigga?
    Been on hold for about two hours nigga
    I don't give a fuck how long you been on the line;
    Shut the fuck up! Matter of fact, hold on
    I know this nigga ain't just put, put me on hold man
    This bullshit-ass elevator music
    Free, pick up line five

    First things first, watch what you say out your mouth
    When you talkin on the phone to hus-tlers
    Never play the house, think drought, keep heat in the couch
    When you sittin in the presence of cus-tomers
    Never hold out, pull out, throw heat and be out
    If a nigga ever think that he touchin-ya
    Lay low, get cake, whip all over the state
    Stash dough, whip yay with, right amount of bake (hoe!)
    Nigga too close went right around his place (yo!)
    You stoppin dough when we clutchin the gats?
    I know you heard "Friend or Foe," this ain't different from that
    Make sure you got your four-four and he can slip if he like
    Young, Jon Benet daughter missin tonight and yo
    Until you up stay away from them dykes and whores
    Three smuts, two straights and a dyke
    Can pause one-three rumbles two streaks and a pipe for sure
    And if it's tight, then he might come back for more
    Nine and four, everyday back and forth
    Winter to summer, 1-900-Hustler
    Pass the number til you're stackin balls
    Tell you how to weigh shit wet and package more
    I take cash or write the check out to F-R
    Two E's, that'll be two G's
    And forget my money I'm comin for all your ki's, nigga

    1-900-Hustler, Sigel, holla at your boy dog
    Yo what up young, you put me on hold earlier man what happened
    Yeah you stupid motherfucker {Watch your mouth man}
    You talkin all reckless on the phone

    Fuck you think this the,
    Get-Indicted-Hotline or something motherfucker?
    Yo, my bad man, my bad
    I know I was talking reckless earlier about them two chickens
    You get it, you know, two chickens? But listen
    Just tell me how to move this shit man
    I'm pushin hardly half a wing back nigga, holla
    Get a job, holla at Perdue!
    This song was submitted on October 18th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Shawn Carter, Shawn C Carter, Malik Deshawn Cox, Roosevelt Harrell, Leslie Pridgen, Arar Schefrin, Michael Zager.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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