Tekster: Jim Jones. Hustler's P.O.M.E.: Product Of My Environment. Pour Wax.

(feat. Hell Rell)

[Jim Jones:]
You're reign on the top, short like Leprechauns
I came through in drops, Porches and heavy charms
I came from the block, the slums wit ex-con's
And we aimin' them glocks of course ready to bomb
Now I done seen a Custy' cop four pies of the same gear
Also seen a nigga cop four rides in the same year
This concrete jungle, no trees to swing from
This weed and gettin drunk and heaters gettin dumped
Hit the highway nigga ki's up in the trunk
Back up in the city with some skeezas in the trunk
I aint a player but I do my dirt dog
Drop top 'Cedes better move when it merk off
It got me swingin to the left lane
Plus a nigga caughin 'cause the haze give me chest pain
Yes motha fucka the boys is back
With my vest and I'm tucked up with my boys in back

[Chorus: Jim Jones]
You dont want it with them niggaz
While you niggaz steady bitching my niggaz gettin' richer
You mad 'cause we ballin'
Bet you mad 'cause we scorin
If he get out of line put his punk ass in a coffin
Nigga we a ragime, Byrdgang we the truth
Keep a foriegn sedan or swirvin' in the coupe
Oakwood in the interior, swade on the roof
Now shoot, [Bang, Bang] shoot [Bang, Bang]

[Hell Rell:]
Aw man Hell Rell, he on the same bullshit agiain
Same black hoody{Yup}, same fo' fifth again
Bithes stopped likin' me but now they on my dick again
Seen me in the Ashton with my glistinin'
Yea I'm bustin off the chrome
Yea I'm 'bout to off your dome
Kill the mother and the father, kids go to foster homes
Yea I like to floss the chrome, nigga leave the boss alone
See my neck and my wrist, I'm rockin' what it costs for homes
Homie they dont call me ruger for nothing
Back out on theese bitch niggaz get that ruger to dumpin'
Dont run up on me nigga you know I stay with it
G'd up from the beef and brock's to the Oakland A's fitted
That's the bottom to the top, it's in the bottom of the pot
I got it white, I got it tan, it's either you copin' or you not
Nigga jets is pullin' off and you stuck in the current
D.I.P., B.G., fuck what you heard

[Chorus]

[Jim Jones:]
We all strapped in the ride, I aint talkin' like the elderly
Yac'ed when we drive like a rollin fuckin' felony
Trapped to survive, get the bucks, sell them ki's
It's hard to get by that's why we puff hell'a'weed
But if this high dont come down
I feal the world spinnin' like the sky gon' come down
I need air top of the ride gon' come down
And i swear I stay fly when I jump out
Jewled up in ice like what that dude like
Spider four thirty with the blue'ish lights
Got the coupe bright, still shoot dice
For my niggaz on the east side this is true life

[Chorus]