[verse 1]
niggaz screw they face up at me
on some real shit son they don't want beef
I cock that aim that shit out the window
spray there ain't a shell left in my heat
y'all niggas better lay down
yeah I mean stay down
get hit wit AK round
yo ass ain't gone make it
you niggaz'll get layed out
in blood and ya brains out
have you on the concrete shiverin' and shakin'
I from southside mothafucka weh the gats explode
If you feel like you on fire boy drop n roll
niggaz'll heat yo ass up cuz they hearts turn cold
now you can be a victim or you can lock and low
the party jump,with shorty bouncin that ass
I won't fuck,give me a second,I'm ma holla I'ma see what's up
I got my razor in my hand got my pistol in my trunk
I'll carve ya ass,you play me like a punk
[chorus]
in my hood
niggaz got love for me, but iont go no weh without my strap
in my hood
a lil dro a lil hennessy, a nigga jest dont know how to act
in my hood
niggaz is grimmie i stay on point i move with my gat
in my hood
niggaz might buck at me,so i keep somthin around to buck back
in my hood
[verse 2]
I don't trust a mothafuckin soul
when the Ds come they fool
on my first case they told
where im from it aint safe
to have more than an 8th
niggaz'll come to ya place
put a gun to your face
tell you open the safe
as your heart starts to race
cuz a robbery can turn into a homo-case
cooporate or doc'll have to operate
niggaz'll pop at you,run the light,then pop at jake
trust me son niggaz'll go hard for that cake
these thirty niggaz'll lurk
youll have to catch 'em and murk 'em
I'm observant in my hood these niggaz be dumbin
shots go off at the dice game, all you see is em runnin
they make it harder and harder to pump on the block
I'm a hustla how the fuck I'm sposed to eat when it's hot
[chorus]
[verse 3]
that party off the hook till the shots go off
but that's what you get for stuntin' on my block show off
uhh you shit outta luck if niggaz catch you slippin'
crack money slow so you know niggaz is trippin'
shory down there on that queens track takin' a whippin'
shit bitch get out a pocket, she needs some discipline
peep the fiends shootin' diesel in his arm in the alley
look at the chrome spinners spinnin on that black denali
the grimmie niggaz where im from,they wanna see you chippied up
you shine, they gone .... and shoot your whip up
it ain't good to do good in my hood (gunshot)
you know not to do good now
[chorus]
compositores: Philip Pitts, Marshall B Mathers, Luis Edgardo Resto, Curtis James Jackson, Teraike Crawford
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