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Artist/Band:
South Park Mexican
Lyrics for Song: Wizard Of Oz
Lyrics for Album: Hustle Town [1998]
Chorus
Now come follow me
Down Yellow Brick Road
to wizard of oz
Hillwood Hustla
Got what you need
Verse 1
It was plain to see
Since the age of 3
One day dope feinds would be pagin me
I got crunk in the game
Niggas knew my name
Hillwood, the place I gained my fame.
16, in the '77 Seville
Smoke gray, gold trim, Big Daddy grill
Back in '86, I was choppin bricks
To think, a damn Papermate got me rich
I got love for the hustlas in every hood
Wit hate in your heart it'll never be good
I feel blessed but confess
I blow cess for my stress
It's that Mex with an S on my chest.
Nonetheless, I wish well for the homies
With the OZ's runnin from the police
No peace, blow sweets on cold streets
Dope feinds go bring a nigga mo green
Chorus
Verse 2
My money triples, sippin Ripple
Livin simple. Rollin paper squares
Outta a fat ass nickel
Tricks on my dick for the bricks I chop
Pigs in my mix they hit my block
Used to catch a raid 'bout every 6 months
Just to check up, to see if I'd slip once
Call it one time some rhyme 'bout this shit
I can slide in my sandals,
But never will I slip.
Undercovers hit the set, Man ya'll funny
Takin them crumbs and givin marked money
Tryna convict 'em, I ain't fallin victim
Fool I know your face, and my boys I done hipped 'em
They want me bad so mad as they burned off
Fuckin with them hoes, now my blunt done turned off
No other way, just another day on the spot
If you play then you pay, It don't ever stop.
Chorus
Verse 3
I wrote this book 'bout the hopeless crook
Livin in the land where the coke is cooked
Where hoes get took and the Choke is good
Where smokas hooked in a soldier's hood
That Lonley Wood, where his homies stood
Tryna change myself if I only could
I'm just your Hillwood Hustla
Street rhyme rustla
Blowin mo smoke than a broke down muffla.
But I'm takin losses
It ain't easy workin jobs when I'm fuckin bosses
Sellin dope is the hardest thing a man can do.
Risk your life and your freedom for a buck or two.
Still I feel if you lose control, homie yousa ho
Real G's keep they life on cruise control
When the police kick door, and raid my crib
I tell em Pigs are for slippers. That's not what I did.
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