Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hood, artist - Ali & GippDate of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Hood |
| You can catch me in the hood smokin' good, posted on the lot |
| Got a pocket full of money cuz im fresh off the block |
| The hood smokin' good, posted on the lot |
| Got a pocket full of money cuz im fresh off the block |
| Yea we sippin, dippin, tippin, elbow swangin out the window |
| Swimming pool up in the roof, I got the suede up in the ceiling |
| '88 dope man, not purple rain-rocks, having thangs, diamond chains |
| Doin it till my money came |
| Southside, Westside, Eastside, Northside, on them wires, on the blades |
| Ery’body smokin' haze |
| Cadillac, Chevy, Escalade, and them Hummer trucks |
| We burnin rubber, runnin lights, we don’t give a fuck |
| We on that laffy taffy, yall niggas be smokin, babby |
| We custom fitted from our sneakers to our clothes daddy |
| We keep them hoes lookin, starin, gawkin', talkin 'bout us |
| We got them peoples and feds, yea they talk about us |
| About the way we talk, about the way we dress |
| How 'bout them diamond grills? |
| How 'bout they lookin' fresh? |
| I’m always smokin' good, I’m posted on the lot |
| A pocket full of money, I’m fresh up off the block |
| So many brand-new niggas, we don’t know who to trust |
| A bunch of pussy-ass rappers tryin' to sound like us |
| Sweet Jones is a pimp I got bitches on track |
| Send a ho out on a mission, tell 'em break 'em, bring it back |
| Got a house in Hawaii, about to buy a Rolls |
| Nigga think we just 'bout rapping bitch but dope is getting sold |
| I’m a young, hot street flame, deep up in the d-game |
| Smokin' dro, slammin' Cadillac doors, red paint switchin' lane-to-lane |
| I ain’t came to lose bitch, I done paid my dues bitch |
| Got fifteen years off in this muthafuckin' rap shit |
| Seen alotta niggas come, seen alotta niggas go |
| I seen some niggas blow, I seen some turn to hoes |
| Candy cars, candy doors, I got yellow hoes that play wit' they nose |
| If ya like, she blow in ya butt |
| Eat ya dick and then lick ya nuts |
| If I wasn’t rappin baby, I’d still be drivin' this shit |
| Makin hoes hide this dick, UGK we live in this bitch |
| Swisha sweets is a must |
| Mixin' purple wit the tux |
| We call it banana split |
| Choose a pimp ho, I’m the dick |
| I got Bobby 'bout a pound, nigga Whitney 'bout a key |
| DJ Screw about a gallon, bitch the game belong to me |
| In '72, a player born in his boots |
| Every line is the Gospel, cuz every word is the truth |
| Some may call me the realest, this from the heart you can feel it |
| Project baby cuz my family from the Car-Swerve Village |
| And moved the Northside city wit this downtown witty |
| That influenced, project grew 'n' then now '88 gritty |
| Twelve years old smokin' squares, and by thirteen smokin' water |
| By fourteen I was a busy boy in somebody daughter |
| Rockin' them black Stacy Adams and that fresh gold hat |
| Im sellin' weed a year later, whoa, here come the crack |
| I’m sellin' 50's and bopper’s the cluckers say I got good |
| And wit the crack came the gangs, and that divided the hood |
| And then the war jumped off, some niggas didn’t make it a summer |
| The other niggas locked up, doin rides, receivin' numbers |
| I changed my life wit the quickest, fuh' real and layed down the D |
| I ain’t sellin no mo' but you can still catch me in the hood |
| I’m from the middle of the map where the river run deep |
| Up I-55 where them niggas run D |
| Got a pocket full of stones along wit Bun B, Pimp C, ??? |
| Luv didn’t have it, I could get it from Three |
| Papi didn’t have it, I could get it from E |
| Niggas need dank, you can call on me |
| Hell I come through, it don’t matter if you on that Southside, Westside, |
| Eastside, Northside |
| Used to open up my trunk like there it is, let ya pick which one ya need to get |
| loose |
| I beat that block like bad kids, yea you might wanna call that block abuse |
| Dirty then? |
| Made Derrty now, some of yall might know, but don’t blurt it out |
| You know how shit travel, word of mouth, have them kick-in boys all in my house |
| Knockin' down my glass door, tryin' to rip up my marble floor |
| But ain’t nothin that for that ass though you know |
| See that’s throwback like Dukey Rope |
| Candy painted, hundred spokes, baking soda, watch it grow |
| Gangsta, gangsta? |
| Neva that, but I keep that thang like 'Where he at?' |
| Ain’t no rubber band big enough to hold these stacks |
| I wrap my money in Reynolds Wrap |
| Slangin' ery’thing I get my hands on |
| From the white to the green, to the 1-I phones |
| And I even sold dick to a chick named Simone |