[Intro: Hell Razah] 

Pain, struggle, we gotta hold our head up, as a people 

Youknowhatimsayin, we on a prowl 

Can't forget the struggle, son, we all go through 

G.G.O. 



[Hell Razah:] 

This for the baby mothers, broken hearted 

Five seeds in a one bedroom apartment 

I feel the hunger of my brothers eatin' out the garbage 

And all my locked up and dead baby fathers, over lady heartaches 

We play with automatics and revolvers 

I know chain robbers could of been Vince Carters 

Can't ignore it, cause the pain bother 

Different book, but the same author 

Recognize, we are the same father 

We just try'nna feed our family tree 

So our seeds be insanity free 

Instead of locked up for scramblin' ki's 

OG's comin' home, he had it sowned 

But the corner pay phone, in '89, but he stuck in that zone 

Little Tasha, eight months, and got a baby by the neighborhood chump 

Who'd rather smoke blunts, then bring home lunch 

Young ones bustin' they guns with Gem stars under they tongues 

They got the fathers locked away from the sons 



[Chorus: Hell Razah] 

Every time I count money and I think about my dead homies 

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy) 

Every time I read a jail letter, thinkin' it's gon' get better 

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy) 

Every time I hear a seed dyin', more mothers cryin' 

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy) 

It's nothin' like the hood... 



[Hell Razah:] 

Drug shipments, welfare recipients worship Clinton 

Meanwhile, we got no food in the kitchen 

Grandmothers turned Christian, try to warn 'em but he ain't listen 

Now it's phone calls from prison, daddy little girl is missin' 

Thirteen when she started kissing, she came in late pops was flippin' 

Momma's boy, sold his cracks, to be employed 

Not noticin' we caught in the trap, to be destroyed 

Lookin' out of cab window, same babies in the carriage, now sell indo 

Carry an info', the sore losers can't win, so they spread rumors 

Corrupt cops, either lock or shoot us 

We love the hood with a ghetto respect, Nat Turner 

The burner be the mind first amendment, say it, cause I meant 

Don't care about those who get offended 

We rock like Jimi Hendrix, me and my kindred 

Street corner experts, in jeans and a sweatshirt 

Teammates kick dirt, for CREAM and a network 

Your back'll get stabbed for that cash money bag 

You ain't a thug, 'cause your chain, gun and doo-rag 

New car, new lab, powerful weed from just two drags 

You coughin' on oregano, be careful who you follow bro' 

Someone to push your Bentley, but they ain't ready though 

Someone to be an M.C., and on the radio 

Some sell yayo, it's tricks in the ghettio 

Chick where my cash go? You just like the last hoe 

Bloomberg fucked up the crack flow, we let gats blow 

Twisted colors on our capsule, turn projects to castles 

You ever heard of the Black Jews? You seen us on the five o'clock news 



[Chorus: Hell Razah] 

Every time I count money and I think about my dead homies 

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy) 

Every time I read a jail letter, thinkin' it's gon' get better 

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy) 

Every time I hear a seed dyin', more mothers cryin' 

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy) 

It's nothin' like the hood...