Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hood Politics, artist - Crooked I. Album song The Block Obama, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Treacherous
Song language: English
Hood Politics |
Kill niggas dead, peel niggas heads |
Kill or be killed, that’s what a real nigga said |
I’ll spill your blood red, why you still in the bed |
Cause I know you’re squealing trying to make a deal with the feds |
I’m a east side nigga, a sea side nigga |
City by the sea, what that beach like nigga |
We creepin' in the dark while the street lights flicker |
Who ever make it home is the one who squeeze pipes quicker |
Rims on 300 C’s dubs on the chargers |
Everybody trying to get their thug on the hardest |
They don’t care if you rap get dumped on regardless |
Why you think the cops find guns on us artists |
Crooked is a psycho, creepin' through your momma’s house |
Just to take a picture of her sleepin' with my llamas out |
Just to show the people who I’m beefin' with what I’m about |
Hood Politics Obama will knock the drama out |
Livin' in the fast lane, bitches wanna slow me down |
Say I’m in the streets too much, hate when my homies 'round |
But they should love it cause my homies they gon' hold me down |
Bros over hoes no meow is gonna show me how to live |
She don’t know nothing about them killers in ya crib |
Waitin' to split your wig, ya dig? |
She’s the first one that’s talking to the pigs |
Like, «Miss, calm down just tell us what he did» |
She said I ran out in my boxers and my wife beater |
Start letting off with a chrome .45 heater |
Damn, yesterday I was thinking I might leave her |
Now she rolling over on me like a light sleeper |
Thank GOD! |
I didn’t tell this bitch my real name |
Told her I was a Junior, she thinks my name is Lil James |
Now I got a few problems that I gotta fix |
Talking to the C.O.B.s discussing Hood Politics |
Yeah, I’m over at this bitch house, man |
I’m fucking the shit out this bitch, I’m nuttin' |
Nigga fall out and shit |
I hear some nigga playin' some loud ass music |
Look out the window, just to see who was making a disturbance and shit |
And it’s this nigga who said he’s gon' get me it’s on, on sight |
So I’m figuring I got this nigga, I got this .45 under the pillow |
I’m finna run outside and give it to this nigga, right |
I wasn’t even thinking, I was just like, yo, I ain’t gon' let him get me |
So I just ran outside, boxers, wife beater and I start yacking at that nigga, |
like |
Bap, bap, bap nigga (Gun Shots) |
Then niggas start peeling out, the bitch is freaking the fuck out |
I mean I forgot the bitch was even in there, man at that point |
Now I got a problem |
Yeah, some niggas wear red, some niggas wear blue |
Some niggas don’t bang but they kill ya too |
Some hustle if you fuck them on a deal ya threw |
We part of organized crime like Sicilians too |
We charging rappers for protection just to stack some chips |
So you can walk around icy and they won’t snatch your shit |
If they do they getting killed man and that’s just it |
Cause now you fucking with our money we take action quick |
My little homies cut off half your dick |
Them bastards sick, they’re psychopathic missing half they wits |
They ride around driving matching whips |
Heavy strap blowing G’s on hot jeans and active kicks |
And they love Crooked I cause he crazy yo |
Twin pistols in the Bentley while the AC blow |
Block Obama in to change fuck the Ra-d-io |
I know, some of you haters hate the way he flow |
Cause they think every rappers formula should be intricate |
It ain’t real hip hop if you spitting that simple shit |
I don’t buy your bullshit, not even a little bit |
Bootlegging your favorite rapper you’re just a hypocrite |
File sharing without caring, you’re raping your man |
Same lame creep backstage is shaking my hand |
He don’t know about the hidden four fifth in my waist |
You should tell me how you feel so I can spit in your face |
Pistol whip a motherfucker Crooked I don’t mind |
I make the front page of every website online |
From the 5−6-2 to the 9−0-9 |
Keep a blamma on your waist I keep a nine on mine |
Hood Politics |
There’s industry politics too ya know what I mean? |
They say it ain’t real hip hop if you a gangsta rapper |
Cause you rapping about shit that go on in the hood |
But how is it real hip hop, if you downloading your favorite rap artist for |
free? |
You ain’t supporting your real dude out there |
That ain’t real hip hop either |
Who’s to say what’s real nigga? |
This shit is real, nigga |
It’s C.O.B. |
on mine |
Crip or blood I die trying to unite these niggas, I don’t give a fuck |
You better ask tiny C-style man |
I pull up in the Denny’s |
I’m ghost riding a bentley nigga |
Yeah I jump out that motherfucker to this sniper shit right here nigga |
Let that motherfucker just roll |
Hood Politics! |