4 tha Hustlas – Song and Lyrics by 2Pac


Discover the poetic beauty in ‘4 tha Hustlas’ by 2Pac. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of 2Pac or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.

Too $hort:
If your a real hustler your sure to get rich.

This is for the hustlas, come on
This is for the hustlas, oh
This is for the hustlas, come on
This is for the hustlas, oh

Oh, come on, come on

I make money like a motherfucker
It ain’t no thang to me
Short Dog in the house spittin’ game wit Breed
Ain’t no bust partner, that’s the third week
I’m going to pimp these hoes, they can’t work me
How the hell you think I get to ride a B-12?
The phone and TV ended with a green smell
I went from Oakland to Atlanta with my top down
Short Dog, my shit is nation wide now
You can ask Breed or Pac it don’t stop
I ain’t bull shittin’ make a mill when I rock
Three players in the game and it’s a major
Bitch you want to get me better hit me on my pager
Today I’m on the west coast
Tomorrow I’m in Texas
Flip the Benz and Farri, sold the Lexus
Shorty drop the bass in the mix
You know what’s next bitch
I’m sure to get rich


Ha ha
I’d be the thuggin’ ass outlaw
Til my fuckin’ casuct drops
F*ck around and make me blast on these bastard cops
This is for the hustlas
Believe me coming stapped with the gak
When you see me
Label me a threat to society, but I ain’t quitin’
Thug life motherfucker ain’t no bull shittin’
Born in these projects destined to fate
Collecting mail on these broke bitches
Slanging that game
Now shit done changed
It ain’t the the same
I ain’t lyin’ niggas are dyin’
Three strikes have you motherfuckers flyin’
In the penitentiary or in the cemetery
Gettin’ high no need to worry
Last year niggas knockin’ up the block and in between shots
Pumpin’ tapes from that nigga Breed and Pac
This year bringin’ you the fix
Including Ant Banks in the mix
We’re sure to get rich
Still I ride.


I’m a cold-hearted fool
I mean a fool at heart, head strong
And I won’t be headed home if he falls apart
Contact niggas like a part time
When I ride the beat
Ain’t no way to hide from the dark side
Man of many men’s till the very end
And blend in and change my iden
Just to mix up with the game
They know me by the Breed and they don’t know it’s my last name
It’s mind over matter
I don’t mind, you don’t matter
Pull a glock and watch the whole block scatter
And we can have us a gak to gak talk
Do it old style and do a back to back walk
Count to ten and say goodbye to your friends
And we can put the bull shit to an end
I figure if he plays around he lays around
And he’s a motherfucker ? calls a corner when I’m around
Bodies are buried and found all around
And parish and charish and thoughts just to be true
Punk, fellas behave ya and it just might save ya
So guard your girl and pickup your pistol
Cause you can’t get wit Breed the weed head lyrical nit wit
The shit won’t change as long as I’m alive
I gotta survive and keep it tight