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Hollyhood to Hollywood
Small World/Wyclef Jean
Popularity ยท Low
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
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Bling, bling! Who's that with Supercat? (Third Eye, Third Eye!)
Yes black, where all my troopers at (Uptown, Uptown!)
Yo, let's get back to the hardcore right now
Underground hip-hop, yo
This one's a gangsta tune, what's up Fosha?
I'ma send this one out to all the refugee gangs around the world
Signal, signal, y'all need to chill with the drive-by's
It was the Fourth of July, I heard the cherry bomb bang
"Stay in the house, that's the sound of the gangs, Clef"
By the time we figured out what happened
I was in an ambulance tellin' my cousin, "Keep breathing"
Don't wear your colors here, that's cemetery gear
I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite (but that ain't right y'all)
Don't wear your colors here, that's cemetery gear
(California, California) I got my gun and nine
(From Hollywood to your neck of the hood)
True, true, yo Hollywood got a lot of kids twisted
Jumpin' in and out of limo's thinkin' is his ass really gifted
The only gift y'all possess is workin' with the triple six's
Y'all disguise yourself with bandanas and diamond necklaces
Most of y'all can't even go back to the hood where y'all grew up
Actin' like y'all drink alcohol when all y'all do is throw up
Talk about when y'all blow up y'all gonna visit the project floors
But the last time they saw y'all was 1984
Now y'all wonder, why they got on hoodies screamin' "freeze"
Get out the navigator, Godfather III in the DVD
They hop in, they take your car for a spin
It's cold outside so all you feel is the wind
There's no cell-y phone, so you can't phone home
Oh lord, here come those criminals Maleek & Jerome
("Yo, who you know here, you got family over here?")
(He a rap artist)
("I don't care, he got the wrong colors over here, no fear")
Now you look shook like that Mobb Deep song
I'm surprised, 'cause on all y'all records you was Al Capone
And come to find out that you never held a chrome
And you escaped the draft and never bust a shot in Vietnam
Now you standin' in the form amongst the children of the corn
Like the Son of Man stood with a crown made of thorns
The only difference is for you there'll be no resurrection
'Cause it's a traffic jam, they got you locked up in a intersection
Don't wear your colors here, that's cemetery gear
I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite (but that ain't right y'all)
Don't wear your colors here (colors), that's cemetery gear
(Chicago, Chicago) I got my gun and nine
(From Hollywood to your neck of the hood)
Yo, Hollywood-ass half-man, we hollow tip you
How could you have slipped through without us detecting the trick that's in you
Pretending you pitbull, when really your candy-ass is poodle
We wouldn't've hit you, hammers have already been cocked and cleaned, yo, it was who?
It's click-up, click-up, north cackus, commence to stick up
That's what's within us, cack and lack, clap, buck killers quicker
Stick up the forest misters then head up to chickens with 'em
Adrenaline's givin', when I riff with the fifth to your chin-in
You never knew 'bout how we play these innings
But you about to play the commission
Waves are spinning, I'm out the glaze I'm sh- ing
The real is missing but the fraud is evident
Ever so clear, but you got the nerve to come around here with pounds of fear
Your colors wrong, you must rock edible dons with that huh?
Damn, pa, what's that? Huh, lemme get that, with the quick snatch
If it's a little man in you, then I better put the trick back
And if it's anything killers is fearing, I know my clit stacked for realer
Don't wear your colors here, that's cemetery gear
I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite (but that ain't right y'all)
Don't wear your colors here, that's cemetery gear
(Detroit, Detroit) I got my gun and nine
(From Hollywood to your neck of the hood)
Tell the FBI that I won't be home tonight
Tell the Secret Service I won't be home tonight
Colors
Put away your colors
Whoa, colors
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