Hollyhood - Bilo Da Kid

Fuck the industry, I'm in the streets I ain't never been to Hollywood I'm not Hollywood, I'm Hollyhood I don't wanna go to Hollywood I got kicked out of elementary Started rapping, making melodies Listening to beats on my MP3 Now my video on MTV I got the BB gun in my lap Brought the BB gun in my class Call my momma and she signing that Shit when I get home, she gon' whoop my ass I just dropped me off for 50 packs I'm the youngest nigga in the trap I'm the youngest nigga with that sack Fuck your plug, I got that sack Fuck the industry, I'm in the streets I ain't never been to Hollywood I'm not Hollywood, I'm Hollyhood I don't wanna go to Hollywood I should have been a president Young nigga with plenty cents I teach you little nigga plenty shit All these games, they ain't selling it All this gas, should be selling it Lately I've been really out of my element These niggas be snitching, [?] really having no evidence And I ain't even sick so why the hell am I sipping on medicine Like get the point cause I be working like a Mexican I could make a little power move man you been broke ever since Dropped out of school, run around finessin' shit Running with Chiraq, let's [?] we be wrecking shit Fuck the industry, I'm in the streets I ain't never been to Hollywood I'm not Hollywood, I'm Hollyhood I don't wanna go to Hollywood

Blame, blame, whose dat with you again? (The ride, the ride) Yes black, where's my jewels at? (Uptown, uptown, uptown, uptown...) Yo, let's get back to the hardcore right now Underground hip-hop yo This one's a gangsta tune, whassup Fosha? I'ma send this one out to all the refugee gangs around the world Signal, signal, y'all need to chill with the driveby's It was the Fourth of July I heard the cherry bomb bang Stay in the house that's the sound of the gangs, Clef By the time we figured out what happened I was in an ambulance tellin my cousin keep breathing Don't wear your colours here, that cemetery gear I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite (But that ain't right y'all) DON'T WEAR YOUR COLOURS HERE! That cemetery gear (California, California) I got my gun and nine from Hollywood, to your neck of the hood True, true, yo Hollywood got a lot of kids twisted Jumpin in and out of limo's thinkin is his ass really gifted The only gift y'all possess is workin with the triple six's Y'all disguise yourself with bandanas and diamond necklaces Mosta y'all can't even go back to the hood where y'all grew up Actin like y'all drink alcohol and all y'all do is throw up Talk about when y'all blow up y'all gonna visit the project floors But the last time they saw y'all was 1984 Now y'all wonder, why they got all hoodies screamin "freeze" Get out the navigator, Godfather III's in the DVD They hoppin, they take your car for a spin It's cold outside so all you feel is the wind There's no celly phone, so you can't phone home Oh lord, here come those criminals Maleeg & Jerome ("Yo, who you know here, you got family over here?") He a rap artist ("I don't care, he got the wrong colours over here, no fear") Now you look shook like that Mobb Deep song I'm surprised, cause on all y'all records you was Al Capone And come to find out that you never held a chrome And you escaped the draft and never bust a shot in Vietnam Now you standin in the form amongst the children of the corn Like the Sun of Man stood with a crown made of thorns The only difference is for you there'll be no resurrection Cause it's a traffic jam, they got you locked up in a intersection Don't wear your colours here, that cemetery gear I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite (But that ain't right y'all) DON'T WEAR YOUR COLOURS HERE! (Colours) That cemetery gear (Chicago, Chicago) I got my gun and nine from Hollywood, to your neck of the hood Yo, Hollywood has half-man be hollow to you How could you have slipped through While I was detecting the trick that's in you Pretending you pitbull, when really your candy-ass is poodle We wouldn't of hit you, hammers have already been Cocked and cleaned, yo, it was who? It's click-up, click-up, north cackus, commence to stick up That's what's within us, cack and lack, clap, buck killers quicker Stick up the forest misters then head up to chickens with 'em Adrenaline's givin, when I riff with the fifth to your chin-in You never knew bout how we play these innings But you about to play the commission Waves are spinning, I'm out the glaze I'm sh... ing The real is missing but the fraud is evident Ever so clear, but you got the nerd To come around here with pounds of fear Your colours wrong you must rock edible dons with that huh? Damn Paul, what's that huh? Let me get that, with the quick snatch If it's a little man in you then I better put the trick back And if it's anything killers is fearing, I know my clit stacked for realer Don't wear your colours here, that cemetery gear I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite (But that ain't right y'all) DON'T WEAR YOUR COLOURS HERE! (Colours) That cemetery gear (Detroit, Detroit) I got my gun and nine from Hollywood, to your neck of the hood Tell the FBI that I won't be home tonight Tell the Secret Service I won't be home tonight

Uh-huh, ayy Bay Bay the ambassador, partner, brr Yeah, two, three, four, five (blaow) Six diamond chains on (what?) Yeah, four diamond rings on (for real) Heh, M's on top of M's when I came home (M's) Ha, my lil' bitch, she ratchet, yeah Bend her over, stab it, uh Yoppas, they on deck, let a pussy nigga have it (take that) I be dead fresh, huh, bitch, closed casket I got money habits (trap), tragic (trap) You see the pounds, now you don't, trap nigga magic (walla) Thousand pounds gone (gone) If I make it, memories disappear, am I wrong? Getting head on the 'eway, I just hope I make it home Bitch ratchet just like Trina, but she fine like Nia Long She bad and she a savage, yeah Pretty and she nasty, yeah Do she call me daddy? Yeah Met her in Louisiana, fucked her down in Dallas, yeah Dolph, did you get your first million from sending things from Cali'? Yeah All we know is trappin', yeah A hundred rounds in traffic, yeah Ayy, trap (trap), trap (trap) Trap (trap), trap (trap) Trap (trap), trap (trap) Trap (trap), trap (trap) Count (count), count (count) Count (count it), count (count) Count (it's all there), count (count) Count (ayy), count (ayy) If your bitch look good, then I might take her (yeah, yeah) I just fuck 'em, nah, I don't wanna date her (yeah, yeah) Nigga, where your cake? You look like Captain Saver (trap) Money keep calling me, bitch, I'll see you later Run to the paper just like I'm a raider My phone out of data, I don't do no datin' No way with the tape, I run to the paper My bitch want a bracelet, that bitch gotta face it (ugh) They told me, "Be patient," I ran out of patience Rip out 'em, walking, I'm steppin' on Satan Running these plays, gotta me feeling like paying 'em On the way to the jeweler, young nigga go brazy, ooh Too brazy (too brazy), Dolce Gabana my shoelaces (my shoelaces) Two bitches and me, that's two-faces eating that dick like toothpaste (ugh) I ride off, ride off, pay for the cab, no write off Real nigga baby, no knock off (knock off) If a nigga that beef, they get knocked off 458 in the bag (ugh), 2700 on the tag Cook it, cut it, stash it Hole in the mattress, nigga, I'ma tryna roll me a Patek Lying way low in the alley Nigga, we control the traffic 100-some bowls in the attic They gon' be mad at my family Finna go ice on my granny I ain't even got no Grammy (trap) Trap (trap), trap (trap) Trap (trap), trap (trap) Trap (trap), trap (trap) Trap (trap), trap (trap) Count (count), count (count) Count (count it), count (count) Count (it's all there), count (count) Count (ayy), count (ayy) If your bitch look good, then I might take her (yeah, yeah) I just fuck 'em, nah, I don't wanna date her (yeah, yeah) Nigga, where your cake? You look like Captain Saver (brr) Money keep calling me, bitch, I'll see you later (gone) Bay Bay the ambassador, partner, brr