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Forced To Do Dirt Lyrics

Artist: Ice-T
Album: VI: Return of the Real

Ice-T back in that ass
Return of the real
Muthafuckas fakin and frontin like they don't know what time it is
Niggas on the streets ain't really got a muthafuckin choice

(So niggas is forced to do dirt) --> Prodigy

Born hustler

I only run with real niggas who wear gold and jewels
Diamond rings, strapped with tools
I take no shorts cause I been in it for the long one, the strong one
Gotta tell the truth, yo, half my niggas is on the run
Street giant defiant to the laws
That the white man made, nigga
That's why we play, nigga
A/k/a the street hustler from the Westside
Too damn fly, too much finesse for the hoo ride
I rather take a mark off smooth
Cause the skilll of a hustler is to stick and move
And make you say: "Damn, what's his name?
Got to give a nigga props cause the kid got game"
Mad game, fool, I base my hustle not on strength
But think, you say 'the liqor store', I say 'brinks'
Cause my mind's on the massive roll of the dice
The magnitude of my game's insane, precise

So now you're mad cause I got money and you don't
The hustlers win, the busters won't
What can I say, you can't come out and play
With the real ones, dig this
You'll get broke with the quickness
I don't gamble, I cheat when it's on
Two g's on the table, two in my palm
And if I spill up, I pull the nickel .25 strap
Then the place gets flat and then I'm out the back
With my niggas and them 4's on thangs
And if I really wanna floss I flex my Bentley wings
Damn, over your head, got a problem
Keepin lyrics down to earth so normal niggas can solve em
But the game's extreme so quit your high beams
And increase the light, now can you see me, you might
If you ever been to jail or shot, sold rocks
I'm talkin 'bout weight down like movin ki's and pounds
But every nigga in the hood ain't fly
Light-skinned or dark, they're 90% marks
Straight vics and they got money to give
Then without em tell, me how the hell a hustler lives..

I got no love for a lame
I use my strategy from crack to rap, no shame
And now instead of cooking some ki's
I'm flippin million dollar ??? call em wack MC's
But suckers got it twisted, they missed it
Wastin they life when yo, they mentally gifted
The streets ain't the only fuckin hustle in town
You gotta get in where you fit in, gotta stay way down
But a buster is a buster for life
He makes excuses why his ass ain't pay
That shit's played
Cash rules everything around me, kid
I hit a 50'000 lick and never did no bid
Cause I'm bent on a come-up and my shit stays tight
How many fake gangsta rappers will I hear tonight?
It don't matter cause the real don't care
You know I'ma gonna get mine, so I'ma let em get theirs
But I know in the heart what's true
So if you listen very closely, maybe you will too
My mind's blown off Armani suits
Pavet medaillons, [Name] boots
Cristal and steak, shrimp big as your hand
I bought a silk robe and it's from Siam
This jam's for the hoods and thugs
Pimps and hoes, the slingers of drugs
Hustlers and thieves, cons and crooks
Bookers and sharks, muthafuck the marks


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