DJ Whoo Kid - These n***as Aint Hood lyrics

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DJ Whoo Kid - These n***as Aint Hood lyrics

[Intro: 50 Cent's son Marquise] Yo daddy, these n***a's ain't hood, drop that sh** [Verse 1: 50 Cent] So what I grew up with them n***as, i ain't stuck with them n***as We from the same hood but I don't f** with them n***as sh** pop off, I touch one of them n***as Cut one of them n***as, buck one of them n***as Beg For Mercy, number four, I'm so hood First LP, ten-million sold, I'm so good I thought n***as would love to see me shine But it's making them sick to see me getting mine Got that Benz, got that Bentley, and that new Bugatti Got that Range, Aston Martin, and that new Ferrari If it's making you sick to see me blow I'm sorry Dude we used to be cool, but I ain't stuck with you n***a I grew up with you n***a, but I don't f** with you n***a Got shot in the back then turned around and got shot in the eye You ain't gonna shoot back lay down and die There's a message in my music, can you hear it Kai? Your man's never gonna blow and you're the reason why It's disease infested when I spit it any n***a can get it f** the fronting and the rhymes that a**'ll get flat-lined Can't we all just get along? we used to be friends Nah, f** that, man we used to pretend These n***as is comedians, I thought I was type funny Five called telling n***as, "mutt need bail money" On some real sh**, would you bail a n***a out son, that knew n***as was trying to k** you and wouldn't let you hold a gun Think about it Hahaha [Verse 2: Lloyd Banks] Regardless of what you done heard or hearing f** all the comparing I dare them to come anywhere near him They want someone famous to pout with so I walk around with my gun like it came with the outfit I don't really like to toot my own horn but beep, click clack, blat, go to sleep We all know since you was in the cla** with Legos, you'd grow up to be as soft as mash potatoes Your man gonna make me throw this n***a towards the window and put his a** in the air like the Jordan symbol All my diamonds are colored, I Fruity Pebble'd the right hand, fifty-five grand on the bezel from Ice Man They want to give your boy the 40 cal and nina so I stay on my toes like a ballerina I'm starving n***a, the only one that can cut me and get away with it is my barber, n***a Cause I'll revolve a n***a, take a piece of your head You'll have more room in your hat than a Harlem n***a And now most of these subliminal raps be coming from the same n***as backstage giving you daps Like, "yo banks you hot and everybody says it and I think it'd be real big if we could do a record" But now I'm on some other sh** Like I ain't f**ing with none of you n***as on a record unless you my brother sh** I'm an intelligent man and my elegant band got more colors than elephant man Since hell is at-hand I mine as well expand hand over my can Tan all over the lamb, lamb all over the sand The sun all over the beach, your eyes all over my b**h Her eyes all on your moves incase one of them switch If you don't learn to relax and swallow steam, there'll be more shells in the gra** than halloween

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