(spoken)
This is my hood song
Yeah 3x
This is my hood song...

TOMS! What the f**k is going on?
Now I gotta spit that spooky, cooky, lucid, ludicrous, loopy, Looney Tunes®, too, to the looky-loos who spook me
The next harajuku to jook me
Juke me?
No fluke, me Rooney
Yes, the best to be doing whatever the f**k it is he's doing
Unruly
Allow me to imbue thee
I'm choosing to s**t my duty
Black hat, no kufi
Collapse of the class act when the kid plays the schooling
Dipped, dapper, suave, spectacular half-bastard doing it moving
Truthfully amusing
THAT'S ABOUT IT!
But as of late I've been dutifully confusing
See, I used to be in movies
But before that I was trapped and forced to rap to really cool beats
Before then a comedian and my comedic friends thought I should be on FMs
Who knows, maybe I'll get on another nationally syndicated show again
I forget was this that track I was on when I was goin' in?
Oh yes, my friend, do I vividly remember when I lived in those days prior to dividends
No one feeling him
Reece's deployment
Employment, no
PO pissin’ him
Contingent whims
Can't call it lost lists of long lengths of losses of friends
Pissed installments
From departments
Then department of the light
Cascade fade into the basement of the darkness
A carcass of my plights
Connive my flights
A tragedy of my immaturity
Weird how I can't see what I used to be
Well, not as well as from behind the veil from which you perceive
Please continue to belief whatever it is that you believe
I'll see to it your fluid theory is proven
Then use it against Jews
Wait, that kinda is you
Blood of thine brother?
Son of thine Mother?
Mutual Muslim Ancestral
Incandescent Clandestine on a pedestal?
Confess the truth
The best of the next is vexed by the sex and the steps, the vestiges left
Balances, checks bounced by the groups
You channeled me through
Admit it
With connections and collective loot
The nest can bless the youth
But miseducation and correction
Is on repetition in my section
Wyandotte what I'm reppin'
Stressing to the G's
Stop killing my people please
For this I flip a bird to B's
Curse at the C's
Maybe some slurs for the Kings
Kiss my muthaf**kin’ d**k to those still fonkin’ over the Wood and the Threes
I'd rather hurt the turf
That's far less worse than having the dirt mad at me
I know its some ni**as that miss them
And I know for damn sure I miss Chief
R.I.P.
The heat from police costs us so much more and is worth so much less
than, say, a book for your niece
In the very least a hook for a beat
While I write I'm trying to right everything we could wrong
This is my hood song
While I write I'm trying to right everything we could wrong
This is my hood’s song