Lyrics:
strollin' through my hood
West Coast 'til the casket drop
I be throwin' it up, so, motherfucker, West up
It's gun ho Mack one-O, please, you can't fuck
strollin' through my hood
West Coast 'til the casket drop
I be throwin' it up, so, motherfucker, West up
It's gun ho Mack one-O, please, you can't fuck
G's and low riders bumping the Young Thad's new Cali song
I'm coming to see y'all, it won't be long. Get that dope outfit, show them fools you belong
We slang kilos, eighths to them shorties, bring G loads
Of paper to the hood, we got you, cop three of those
And get your hustle right (yeah),
in your face
On that hood tip, you can get it just for looking out of place
Wish you would trip, keep it moving, before you get that ass laced
Yo I'm
a fuckin' Pamper
How ya sound be? You're better off a quitter
I'm on the mound G, and it's a no-hitter
And my DJ the catcher, he's my man
Anyway he's
shitty drawers in the hamper
Next time come strapped with a fuckin' Pamper
How ya sound be ? You're better off a quitter
I'm on the mound G, and it's
sing sing
All my hood niggas don't worry just maintain
You know what it is G-Unit's what I bang
[Chorus- Young Buck/(Prodigy)]
You can take me out
when you hear me, I'm supposed to do that Crack
A G what the streets done made me
And the only language I speak is "Fuck you pay me" bitch
And when
Detroit
('troit) and every block (block)
I'm down by laws, screamin fuck the law (law)
D12 in the house
(house) we the best you saw (saw)
With a Sqwad
shawty look mad good
I hit from the back said I tap good
She shakin' her ass and it clap good
I know how to Mack like I'm Blackwood
But I don't play for
straight to the honeycomb hide out with freaks
Booty calls from the mall to the hood
when I'm bumpin and hella creepin down the street
Get your hopes up
And On Behalf Of G-Unit, Welcome To The South
Working This Wood Wheel, Ya'll Don't Know How Good It Feel
Just Come To Cashville, Ya'll Gon See How Hood It Is
took my hip hop serious
Years later now the pen game is Furious
Styles from a Boy-N-The-Hood
Post G-Funk Era trying to do good
What about Quik,
your rap
I'm out here, gettin hoes livin fat
While you at home, gettin sweated by your mamma
I bought my mother a house in Atlanta
And you can't
the studio in the hood nigga, I'm young fly and flashy
Linted small ballin' earnin G's pushin' all the weight soon in my hood
They call me Hercules and I
to the hood, they know me
Now they know I'm about to leave them holey
The war's going down, when I dip through, creeping in the G-Ride slowly
Hit the gas
definitely no one, I'm one of one
And I musta won that from anybody who had it or better yet forgot it
Mack in the back of a 'Lac with a mac in the back
you're an O.G. mack or a wanna-be player
You see the hood's been good to me
Ever since I was a lower-case G
But now I'm a big G. The girls see I got
85%, I'm 400 solid
Brainbolic wit knowledge, cock-diesel scholars
Holdin' it down, walkin' around wit gold by the pound
Frozen down wit diamond bolders
YMCMB
I'm so twisted
Mack
Dark ass shades, I can't see them haters
Now eat these fuckin bullets, don't forget to tip the waiter
I don't drink
to get 'em up with two thugs
Runnin' side by side with number one
Murder mo drop my gauge on 'em
When the po-po chase,
If they catch me barehanded I'm
of hell's kitchen praying he don't stick from the stove
God got me, illum-i-not-me written in bold
Slept on, now I'm everywhere like g-g-g-go crazy
Buy 150
would've know that the bitch is a hood-rat.
Increasin' my stash, leavin' you fast.
You're thinkin' I'm slippin', I'm grippin' the tech.
Look
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