| Wake your punk ass up
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| The MC Eiht’s back in the muthafucking house
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| Kicking the straight gansta shit for teh 9−1
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| You know what I’m saying, yea
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| Growing up in the hood, yea boy, 1984
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| Was the year my peers didn’t know what was in store
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| A little hard head kid came abade
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| Time to pay my dues, learn the tricks of the trade
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| And at home, it’s the same ass story
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| Mom’s treat me like she don’t even know me
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| But my younger brother’s got much clout
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| I can’t take this shit so I bones the hell out
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| And roll wit the pack of wicked muthafuckas
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| No shorts are taken, we’re down black brothers
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| A little nigga wit no problems at all
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| Fucked up and killed my first 8-ball
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| Quick up the stairs so little sucker stop looking
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| Stagger to the house so I can collect my whooping
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| But watch out cause a little nigga’s up to no good
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| Growin' up in the hood
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| («Life ain’t nuttin but bitches and money»)
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| («Cause in the city you live and let die»)
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| («Nutting but bitches and money»)
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| I got hard times and realize, ?(skate)? |
| sometimes I wonder
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| But it just seems that the hood could took me under
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| Police sweat my tip and keep harrassing
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| Trying to lock me up cause I keep on blasting
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| Community trying to shut me out
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| But the money keeps flowing and I got much clout
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| Wit the cluckers, the brother back street punk suckers
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| Try to break me out fool, you be a short muthafucka
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| Always strapping, eager to peel a cap
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| I set up a trap, put your foot to a nap
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| Cause I grew up fast on the wrong side of the law
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| So watch me take 2 to your jaw
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| Don’t enter my hood homeboy
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| Not a robocop, a robogansta, ready to destroy
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| I take chances cause life to me ain’t no good
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| Growin' up in the hood
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| («Life ain’t nuttin but bitches and money»)
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| («Where I’m at if you’re soft, you’re lost»)
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| («Nuttin but bitches and money»)
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| 1987, I’m back on the scene, out of jail, I’m legit
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| And I’m fucking up shit
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| I’m ready to peel a sucker’s cap
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| And I heard that my hood was making snaps
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| As I precede to make my riches
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| Just like the neighborhood kingpin, pimp, and all these bitches
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| Task force trying to roll deep
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| But I’m playing these punk fools cheap
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| Niggas rolled by and try to blast, it didn’t work
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| I seen the bullets flying and fool, I hit the dirt
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| Bullets fly through the window
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| Hits my brother, down goes my mother
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| As I’m rolling, I’m hitting my switches
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| Looking for the punk ass, sons of bitches
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| I found them, before I kill 'em, I said you fucked up good
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| Got ta handle that, growin' up in the hood
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| Yea-a-a-a
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| A brother’s on the run, I’ve got a hand in my stash box
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| Wanted cause I’m serving them the potent fat rocks
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| And my face is like a household name
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| Everybody warns their kids about the dope game
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| But I’m still makin my profit
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| And the one time just can’t stop it
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| So I keep hiding my face
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| No time to waste, they got me on the chase
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| Now the neighborhood’s on my line
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| Cause some punk ass fool had drop the dime
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| 5−0 at my doo' at 8 o’clock
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| Rush to the toilet so I could flush the rock
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| Out the backdoor, freeze, I heard a shout
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| Am I sho', yo I guess I got no clout
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| But it’s murder one, I’m the victim, damn, that ain’t good
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| Growin' up in the hood |