Ransom, Rome Streetz - American Hustle lyrics

"Be my victim!"

Man, listen, shit
I did all that shit ‘cause I had to, man
Not ‘cause I wanted to
We’re all living to die, right?
I wasn’t raised by IG, man
I was raised by the OG’s know I’m saying
Whoever counted us the fuck out
You motherfuckers wasn’t good at math
You heard? It’s a fact
Listen

I’m more than a hustler’s motto
And tough bravado, reloading
Busting hollows when I was stuffing bottles
I looked up to Pablo fuck the lotto
I would trust and follow Cus D'Amato
Touching mics like the Russian
Drago rushed Apollo, Tough to swallow
Fucking models, soon as I would touch Milano
Fusilli and crushed tomatoes, zucchini
And plus Moscato, Couple bottles
Puff habanos by a plush Picasso
But what the fuck do I know
You sell high then you buy low
You’re Walter White or Gustavo
Was forced to fight on them potholеs
Tortured sight of a snot nosed
Cost your life if thе block knows
Mind of a crafty fiend, she tossed
The pipe when that cop froze, Yeah
You ignore the price and get shot close
Slaughter mics with them pot flows
Broken loner, hustler with the coke aroma
No diploma, robbed a corner store
Almost smoked the owner load the chrome up
Motorola holders cuttin' blow with soda
Know the stoners, back against the wall
Display the coldest shoulders

Sold your soul for little dough
I guess the load too much to hold up
Hard-headed, when we touched the stove
The fire didn’t scold us
Old close friends taught me to have no trust
Made 14K off the powder, that shit gold dust
Shattered dreams to nightmare that
Uncle Sam sold us
So I chose the road of dope
On digi scales and hold ups
Stupid niggas dip off on the plug too much
Lust for cash got shot in the mask ‘cause he
Ran with the duffle bag
Would’ve got in less trouble if I
Could get in touch with dad
Ironic how I dead every beat that I touch
I’m bad leather jacket with the buckle, shit
You motherfuckers used to be wavy
But now you’re stuck on a sunken ship
Drunken fish on a dish
Display murder type mastery on a diss
Can’t fuck with this
I’d rather get the funds from
The cutties that’s fully functioning
Don’t deal with fried fiends
Only hundreds if you come for things
Son, son, you’re just an
Underling, when I’m done, My son a king
It’s true, some stand tall and some'll sink
Know who is who
The haters always gonna love
You at your funeral that’s fuel for the fire
That’s burning beautiful
Permanent residue under my cuticles
The corner was my office
I’m foreigner to a cubicle nigga
What if I told y’all
I was contemplating conformation?
Yeah, and I actually just wanted
People to accept it
Could it be that everybody loves me except me
And I don’t even want to accept me?
But even the best me couldn’t impress me
See, I’m hard on myself
But how could you not see God in yourself?
Too busy building up walls, guarding yourself
Those scars that you felt thinking
Thinking maybe your father could help
My childhood was foster parents who
Wasn’t forced to parent
Trying to find loopholes in group homes
Nah, lil’ man, look, you’re too grown
Lil’ nigga, stand on your two own
You was born for this
You asked your brother, Born, for this
Nigga, you was brought in here to show all
These brothers that was brought to tears
Who fought for years
These devils ain’t got to be
Your source of fear
Yeah, I’m a flawed nigga
But I ain’t afraid though
Let me show you the way, bro