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hood blues (acapella) - dmx lyrics

[intro: dmx & westside gunn]
rrr, come on, brr
what? what?
brr
ayo, ayo (rr)

[verse 1: westside gunn & dmx]
i’m in the hood (ah), eighty k house, million dollar neck (uh*huh, ah)
shot off two hundred rounds, n*ggas know where we at (brr, brr, yeah)
my coke be the best, talk no steps (uh*huh, ah)
headshot took off his whole left (boo*boo*boo*boo*boo*boo*boom)
margiela kicks, margiela sweats
i’m on the yard doin’ burpees, me, drop and fresh (ah)
my shooter layin’ low, he got a new body (boo*boo*boo*boom, uh, uh, uh, uh)
i spray the tesla x, you need a new body (skrrt)
fifty k, got my b*tch a new body (ah)
you internet n*ggas, y’all punani (rrr, ah)
the ace of spades sipper, yay dealer
pray five times a day, get on thе wave, n*gga (ayy, ayy, ah)
baddest b*tch you evеr seen doin’ my braids, n*gga (rrr)
the tech echo like it got delays, n*gga (d*mn)
your sh*t ain’t sh*t, get out the way, n*gga (uh huh)
new yeezys, only me and ye with ’em (yeah, ah)
pay attention (uh), four on the baby come back then leave seven (uh, uh)
guarantee into the rec’ yard, i got the weapon (ow, ah)
[verse 2: benny the butcher & dmx]
the butcher comin’, n*gga (yo, uh, come on)
you know how i rock, six figures off zaza (uh*huh)
come and spend at my shop (uh*huh), i turn your hood to a hotspot (uh*huh)
every game i feel like i’m dame without a stopwatch (uh*huh)
shootin’ before the shot clock, griselda got the top spot (oh)
locked down like a p*wn shop, n*gga (yeah), i’m thinkin’, “why not?” (uh*huh)
i gave my life to the game, but what do i got?
father these n*ggas, how? i don’t even know my pops (ayy, ayy, ayy)
this flip phone that i got don’t connect to the wifi
uh*huh, this new foreign sh*t with the wood on the door (rrr)
got me beefin’ with some n*ggas i could’ve put on (rrr, that’s f*cked up)
they make up lies and put ’em in songs (they do, yeah)
i pull up to lots, cop, and down the block hear me pull in the yard (skrrt)
yeah, prayin’ with my dirty hands (with my dirty hands)
i did dirt and scammed, i’m askin’ god “do i deserve these bands?” (do i deserve these bands?)
and we from murder land, eastside sh*t
jeans purple brand (ah), ridin’ in the gle, the turtle van (talk to ’em, ah)

[verse 3: conway the machine & dmx]
ah, look, you throwin’ shots? you better be precise (uh*huh)
if i only squeeze it twice, that’s me bein’ polite (okay, facts)
we was in the trenches, n*gga, four chicken wings and rice (yeah)
the shooter fourteen (yeah), can’t read or write, but he gon’ squeeze his pipe (what?)
we was tryna sell a key a night
’cause nas said a g at night wasn’t good enough, and he was right (talk to ’em)
they mad i’m rich, the same n*ggas that wouldn’t see my plight (spit that sh*t)
the nets playin’, i’m ridin’ to the game with kd tonight, yeah (what up, n*gga? rrr)
machine b*tch, every beat i body (ah)
my n*gga on his way home, he just beat a body (beat a body)
every time i leave the house, i got the steamer by me (i got it on me, uh, uh, uh)
my jacket a one of none, you never seen it probably (woo, hah)
i took some cheddar out the vault to pay the lawyer for my man
weapon possession and felony assault (you good, n*gga? what?)
whippin’ up at unc house, he keep the resi’ off the fork (keep that)
i’m kyrie hittin’ n*ggas with the hezy on the court, look (woo)
i reached the point n*ggas never would’ve thought (ah)
’cause every time i drop somethin’ i don’t never get support, f*ck ’em (ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy)
fn mac shots severin’ your corpse
you never could extort me, my heart cold as february 4th (what? talk to ’em)
they hate to see me win, i’m not surprised (ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy)
n*gga, i’m f*ckin the b*tches, them bum b*tches you f*cks idolize (hahahaha)
i’m in harlem at lighthouse eatin’ lobster fries (rrr)
vee & shooter with me, i got mobster ties (uh*huh)
machine, b*tch (what?)
[verse 4: dmx]
i grew up at the dark side, apartheid
where goin’ against the grain’ll get you kidnapped and hogtied (uh, what?)
x the illest n*gga, realest n*gga
never been scared (uh), i’m a fearless n*gga (come on)
i got that cannon that’ll remove your head and shoulders (n*gga)
cats that play in the street (man), get ran over (rrr)
i’ma make you hand over everything you got
i’m not the average (motherf*cker) do damage ’cause i’m a savage
sometimes i can’t manage all the sh*t in my head
i was promised the world but i got the dirt instead (hey)
turn the light, i was bred to shed blood (uh, uh, uh)
it’s always gonna be “f*ck you, n*gga, what?” (what?)
built for war, raw, this .44 will hit you through the door
you exist no more (c’mon, get it, c’mon)
i done punk’d more n*ggas than ashton kutcher (c’mon, c’mon)
it’s westside, conway, x, and benny the butcher, n*gga

[outro: dmx]
get like you lit, n*gga
get how you f*ckin’ lit, n*gga
you know what the f*ck it is (rrr)
you know what the f*ck it is, n*gga
i ain’t fifty years old for nothing, aight?
i’m not fifty years old for nothing (we active, n*gga, we active, we active)
f*ck outta here, p*ssy ass n*ggas
i’m from a small town called “wish a n*gga would”
and i wish a n*gga would
outta here, arf

- dmx lyrics

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