Diabolic, Smoothe Da Hustler - Club Hater lyrics

We like to welcome you all to club hater
Where hustlers, bitches
And thugs they all hate ya
When players floss, they false and toss paper
Where your people are fake
And they might snake ya
We like to welcome you all to club hater
But we ain’t sweating it, our moves are major
Let’s get this party poppin’
Let’s get them titties shaking
Make sure the shit we sayin’
Keep the city hatin’ yeah, yeah, club hater
Where thugs hate ya if you touch paper
Where y’all are bound to get stuck
Like we duct taped ya
Where cats who tuck razors are much safer
While I recline and find a dime to fuck later
Models clock watching the bottles
You got poppin’ you not knockin’ to hustle
Bitch so stop plottin’
Start knob slobbing and get me
Off like John Cochran
‘Til some hater gets his jaw
Rawked for cock blockin’
It’s not stoppin’, sip 80 proof Grey Goose
‘Till I fall out like a baby tooth came loose
It may be true
We’ll take loops from crooks who kill ya
Real recognize real and you
Don’t look familiar
Takin’ shots of liquor, some vodka mixture
Late night, when snakes bite
And plot to hit ya
You got the picture, in the cut smoking a L
Ladies free all night, doors open at 12

You’re the shit if you’re there
Dipped in the ware, it’s tension here
Sniff the air, smell a stench in the gear
Bitch in your ear, her fist in your rear
Adjusting your vision to witness a slip
In your gear and disappear
We bury men, hitting more licks than lesbians
Sleep, we give you more
Nightmares than Freddy the shiest talkers
Life talkers who strike offers
After the club, we home, run hoes
We night hawkers
We ice flossers, and dice tossers
We like corners
We club hop with drug blocks they ride for us
What you buggin’ for coming in the door
Front and huggin’ the wall
Beefin’, why you think I carry the oven for?
Reaching to half bake one of y’all
Some of y’all want it raw
You carry the battle, I’m tuggin’ the war
Come aboard, I’m comfy, try not bugging me
Guy’s died ugly for eye fucking me
He was cockeye?

Look there ain’t no dress code
Expect hoes to be dressed in less clothes
Hate growing like escrow
Heck no, you can’t get my John Hancock
I’m in the john
Hand on my cock in a fan’s twat
Hustler’s creep, scheming on something to eat
‘Cause a customer leave with some
Hustler up the street
The flame from the snub laid
Him dead under the sheets
So the name of the club
Changes every couple of weeks

Trouble and beef
Will scuffle ’til my knuckles are beat
I won’t stop ’til I knock out
A bunch of your teeth
Surrounded by cut-throats
Drowned in the Dutch smoke
Burning haze ’til every clown
In the club choke the top recruit
In hot pursuit if you’ve got the loot
With some prostitute in the
Bathroom knockin’ boots
Ready for war, cock and shoot
The same soldiers
Diabolic and Smoothe Da Hustler
The game’s over

"Because I don’t like nothing
In the first place, and I don’t like you"