Talk My Shit Hustle Gang (Ft. Peanut Da Don, Trae tha Truth & Young Dro)
"Talk My Shit" by Hustle Gang (Ft. Peanut Da Don, Trae tha Truth & Young Dro) is a #HipHop track from 2016. The song emphasizes themes of self-confidence, resilience, and street credibility. Its hard-hitting beats and assertive lyrics showcase the artists' hustle and determination, reflecting their experiences in the rap game. The collaboration highlights unity in the Southern rap scene, contributing to the genre's cultural narrative.
[Verse 1: Peanut da Don]
Your crew ain't no killers, your hittas ain't hit shit
What's your body count nigga, y'all niggas don't live that shit
All these extended clips, them (?) sick dicks
Every nigga made my hit list, got scratched off like quick pick
You're not a gangsta, you're a crook
Put down a gun, get a book
You're just a diamond with some fire, that's why your shooting don't look
Smile soldier, no train
Then IKEA get hit
Sucker living in the rep, that's why your wig get split
They say they some shooters, I don't believe these niggas
They say they some hittas, well I don't need these hittas
[Verse 2: Trae tha Truth]
Nah, I don't need these hittas, thuggin' turned me into a killer
Tryna flush 'em like a shitter, fire comin' through your pillow
Bet I make a nigga quit, 150 in the stick
I'm just tryna get ya fixed, put this all up in ya mix
Anywhere I go I'm piped down, play with tha Truth and get wiped down
If I go to beef and I bite down, pull up on ya black out like it's lights down
Ski mask and a driver, gun checkin' for a coast
Let them youngins go to work, they just here to get ya (?)
Why you playin' with a boss, you ain't graduate the corner
Keep it movin' in a new whip, truck'll beat you to a coma
Get your bitch cuz I was on her, head shot now she a domer
When I'm done I'm getting lost, sorry for you I'm a loner
I don't care bout 'em I finesse 'em, every diamond on me random
Gang flier then a jet, I just need a place to land' em
Your crew ain't no killers, your hittas ain't hit shit
What's your body count nigga, y'all niggas don't live that shit
All these extended clips, them (?) sick dicks
Every nigga made my hit list, got scratched off like quick pick
You're not a gangsta, you're a crook
Put down a gun, get a book
You're just a diamond with some fire, that's why your shooting don't look
Smile soldier, no train
Then IKEA get hit
Sucker living in the rep, that's why your wig get split
They say they some shooters, I don't believe these niggas
They say they some hittas, well I don't need these hittas
[Verse 2: Trae tha Truth]
Nah, I don't need these hittas, thuggin' turned me into a killer
Tryna flush 'em like a shitter, fire comin' through your pillow
Bet I make a nigga quit, 150 in the stick
I'm just tryna get ya fixed, put this all up in ya mix
Anywhere I go I'm piped down, play with tha Truth and get wiped down
If I go to beef and I bite down, pull up on ya black out like it's lights down
Ski mask and a driver, gun checkin' for a coast
Let them youngins go to work, they just here to get ya (?)
Why you playin' with a boss, you ain't graduate the corner
Keep it movin' in a new whip, truck'll beat you to a coma
Get your bitch cuz I was on her, head shot now she a domer
When I'm done I'm getting lost, sorry for you I'm a loner
I don't care bout 'em I finesse 'em, every diamond on me random
Gang flier then a jet, I just need a place to land' em
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