Hood - Ali & Gipp, Pimp C, Nelly

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