[Verse 1: Ghostface Killah]
Yo, straight out the ghetto, I'm damn hood
I stack a dollar like a whole rack of canned goods
Baggy jeans, no Timbs, ACG boots
Livin' in the crack spot, bangin' that Sheek Louch
The narcotics is far from garbage
Whether it's cold or it's late August
My shit is fresh cuz I catch the hottest
My little cousin bubble swatches and carry a couple oxes
Keep a deuce deuce by his ankle and get it poppin'
You know, we be the boys clockin' the graveyard shift
Big bubbles, countin' the cream, burnin' the lazar spliff
My man jumps out the whip with the AR 5th
And we barred from plenties of parties, 'cause we start shit
Parole holes, six months in the box
My little sister got her head shaved off
She made it home from shock
We sellin cartons, Pampers, Similac formula
Anything you take because the paper keep callin ya
Gangsters keep ballin fosho, we want more
We make it rain from the tech and the wop
The next coroner priests don't have enough cups for us
To slow us up, they hit us with dusk
Then they rush-bust, my man Big Ron will break the cuffs
300 pound nigga, po-po has to fuck him up
They say that my projects should undergo therapy
We never voted, we votin' for Oprah, Obama, and Eric B
Yo, straight out the ghetto, I'm damn hood
I stack a dollar like a whole rack of canned goods
Baggy jeans, no Timbs, ACG boots
Livin' in the crack spot, bangin' that Sheek Louch
The narcotics is far from garbage
Whether it's cold or it's late August
My shit is fresh cuz I catch the hottest
My little cousin bubble swatches and carry a couple oxes
Keep a deuce deuce by his ankle and get it poppin'
You know, we be the boys clockin' the graveyard shift
Big bubbles, countin' the cream, burnin' the lazar spliff
My man jumps out the whip with the AR 5th
And we barred from plenties of parties, 'cause we start shit
Parole holes, six months in the box
My little sister got her head shaved off
She made it home from shock
We sellin cartons, Pampers, Similac formula
Anything you take because the paper keep callin ya
Gangsters keep ballin fosho, we want more
We make it rain from the tech and the wop
The next coroner priests don't have enough cups for us
To slow us up, they hit us with dusk
Then they rush-bust, my man Big Ron will break the cuffs
300 pound nigga, po-po has to fuck him up
They say that my projects should undergo therapy
We never voted, we votin' for Oprah, Obama, and Eric B
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