Prophet of Profit

Verse 1

Check

Check

Racks

Hustle God

I am the prophet of profit

Cashing out

Bankroll thickening

The stage is my altar

Every city is a sacrifice

Nigga

Fell asleep on the plane

Woke up in another state

Promoter handed me a heavy envelope

Counted fifty then I counted sixty

I need it all

The front row is screaming

I do not even hear the words

I only hear the sound of the safe door locking

Pure greed

My blood is gold

My heart is a calculator

I am a monster with a microphone

Selling out the venue

Then I am selling out the block

Nigga

Move fast

Stay hidden

The shadows are my favorite office

I do not talk to rappers

I only talk to the teller

Stacking paper until it reaches the ceiling

Then I build another house on top of that

Evil thoughts

Money motives

I am the reason your favorite artist is broke

I took his slot

I took his fans

I took his rent

No mercy in this industry

Just a trail of spent shells and receipts

Nigga

My chain is heavy

My pockets are heavier

I do not trust a soul

Not even my own shadow

Because the shadow wants the light

And I am the one keeping it dark

Dark money

Fast cars

Empty hearts

I am the Hustle God

Worship the grind

Pay the toll

I am taking everything you own

Nigga

Every verse is a robbery

Every show is a heist

I leave the stage before the lights come on

Disappearing into the night

With a suitcase full of dirty hundreds

This is the life I chose

The life that chose me

The life that will bury me in a silk casket

Racks on racks

Nothing else matters

Hustle God

Nigga

Hustle God

Hustle God

Out