Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Hustler’ by 50 Cent. 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 50 Cent or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.
Don’t make this complicated
My old school candy painted
I hustle hard
When I come through they like “oh my God that nigga clean”
From the beginning It Was Written I suppose
I break a whole on the 36 oz
And move it, I’m a hustler, baby
I’m a hustler, baby
My mind on the money, I ain’t tripping on the hoes
I blow a whole lot of paper on clothes
But dig it, I’m a hustler, baby
I’m a hustler, baby
I come through, I had the hoes like “who he?”
Seats in the old school Louis
Shoes and the belt buckle Louis
We don’t need more details now do we?
Let ’em sag, my swag is True Religion
You gonna need Cartier frames to see my vision
It smells like cream mixed with weed, this is classy and hood
Drama llama time, nigga, what’s good?
Domino’s, motherfucker, it’s time to collect
Stack paper like I’m trying to fix the national debt
I’m just doing what I wanna do, I trip these set
This is 50 on that Muammar Gaddafi shit
From the beginning It Was Written I suppose
I break a whole on the 36 oz
And move it, I’m a hustler, baby
I’m a hustler, baby
My mind on the money, I ain’t tripping on the hoes
I blow a whole lot of paper on clothes
But dig it, I’m a hustler, baby
I’m a hustler, baby
Get on my level, bitch, I’m careful who I kick it with
We talk market and distribution and politics
Got a chip on my shoulder, chip off the old block
I sell the chip of a whole rock, 10 dollars a pop
I’m a magnet, the bitch can’t help but watch me
Socks, drawers, undershirt, Versace, Versace, Versace
Designer threads in every form of fashion
I express myself so the question I’m askin’
Is this flip or the next flip tailor 50 shit?
We ain’t promised tomorrow, nigga, go on and get the shit
That skull and bones, that Alexander McQueen thing
In case you ain’t notice this a Queens thing
From the beginning It Was Written I suppose
I break a whole on the 36 oz
And move it, I’m a hustler, baby
I’m a hustler, baby
My mind on the money, I ain’t tripping on the hoes
I blow a whole lot of paper on clothes
But dig it, I’m a hustler, baby
I’m a hustler, baby
Oh, it’s cold out here
It’s my kind of weather, I’m cold blooded
It’s 50
When I come through you see me
In the Suburbans that’s bulletproof, bomb proof, level 6, what else?
When I go hard I go hard
When I don’t want you to see me I switch it up
I’m in that black on black Porsche Panamera
In the back like “ooh wee”
We rolling
I hustle, man, it’s what I do, man
What, niggas gon’ try and tell me how to do this?