Ali & Gipp, Pimp C, Nelly - Hood Lyrics

You can catch me in the hood smokin' good, posted on the lot
Got a pocket full of money 'cause I'm fresh off the block
The hood smokin' good, posted on the lot
Got a pocket full of money 'cause I'm fresh off the block
yeah 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 things, diamond chains
Doin' it till my money came
South side, west side, east side, north side,
on them wires, on the blades

Everybody 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, y'all 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 hoe out on a mission, tell 'em break 'em, bring it back
Got a house in Hawaii, 'bout to, 'bout 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' bro, 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 a lot of niggas come, seen a lot of 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 hoe, 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, 'cause every word is the truth
Some may call me the realest, this from the heart you can feel it
Project baby 'cause my family from the Car-Swerve Village
And moved the north side 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

I'm 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, for real and laid 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
Love 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
south side, west side, east side, north side
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 y'all 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 thing like 'Where he at?'
Ain't no rubber band big enough to hold these stacks
I wrap my money in Reynolds Wrap
Slangin' everything 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