T HA F REAKSTYLAZ P OST A LBUM


| L. Mitchell |

| 19. My Hood. Where I live. (Bonus Tracc) |

-My hood. Where I live.-

Newark!
where everybody getting into something
where if you run in the store you never leave ya engine running
Newark!
where death don't make the news
and you ca' tell that's where i'm from,
by how I rocc my hair, and how I lace my shoes
Don't come into bricc city
i got my gun and my clip with me
where hundreds make hundreds
off of mixed sticcy
and i love to blast,
girls don't love you they love ya cash
gun and mask
the place where the colors clash
the home of hoody's and dreads
My hood be the best, we good with the techs
the gloccs yeah!!!! even the cops scared
where the gangsta and the rats roam
it's a fuccing blacc-hole*; bottomless
it's either college or you gotta spit
selling drugs is not an option it's
handed down; grams and pounds
where ya lullaby's are sirens after a cannon sound
Where brothaz just survive* cuz living* is tough
And all the other hoods are just mimiccing us
The Armpit of the Nation; Strong-Arm; Intimidation
Where we shoot guns
and if you wasn't a gangsta, you knew one
two guns, held up to ya melon
where you played ball, selling, or you telling
you gotta fight alone;
fistfights or fire chrome
so far from heaven that the devil will feel right at home
it will make you question if there is anyone above
NO HUGS!
handing you a GUN! is how ya man will show you LOVE!
the killas will murder
the dealers will serve ya
gorillas will hurt ya
the snithes will tell
shit is wicced as hell
where girls will try to.... hold you any kind of way
especially if you bout something;
they hoping that the condom breaks
But L. Mitchell finds a way; I'm good i'mma solider
and I ain't trying to make it out,
I put the hood on my shoulders
Where the songs have no hooks cuz time don't ever stop
and beef never ends; death will find a brotha blocc
Where we don't do drive-bys, we drive up and just stop
fire all the gloccs then go hide-out from the cops
where the whores adore the hang-time (long hair)
and all it is is weed- money, Gores and gang-signs
where you walk the blocc with one nine
witnesses are dumb blind
where if the the cops appear even the kids yelling "One time"
night time we rocc hoods, beef and the techs will fly
only time the cops do a sweep is election time
sometimes it's hard to hold ya head up
but I'm built off pride.
Rather hold tight a chrome Berretta
then write an Oprah letter
So I grind with the nine on hip
chain on i don't hide my shit
where there's more brothas than sistas
that try to ride ya dicc
-My hood! Where I live!- a place a pain!!
hope my ghetto cries will be heard by a mind
prepared to make a change!

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