Artist/Band:
Wyclef Jean
Lyrics for Song: Hollyhood To Hollywood.
Lyrics for Album: Other Songs - Wyclef Jean
Small World]
Blame, blame, whose dat with you again?
(The ride, the ride)
Yes black, where's my jewels at?
(Uptown, uptown, uptown, uptown...)
[Wyclef Jean]
Yo, let's get back to the hardcore right now
Underground hip-hop yo.
(*foreign singing*)
This one's a gangsta tune, whassup Fosha?
I'ma send this one out to all the refugee gangs around the world
Signal, signal, y'all need to chill with the driveby'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.
[Chorus: Wyclef Jean]
Don't wear your colours here, that cemetery gear
I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite
(but that ain't right y'all)
DON'T WEAR YOUR COLOURS HERE!
That cemetery gear (California, California)
I got my gun and nine from Hollywood, to your neck of the hood
[Wyclef Jean]
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,
Mosta y'all can't even go back to the hood where y'all grew up,
Actin like y'all drink alcohol and 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 all hoodies screamin "freeze"
Get out the navigator, Godfather III's in the DVD
They hoppin, they take your car for a spin
It's cold outside so all you feel is the wind,
There's no celly phone, so you can't phone home.
Oh lord, here come those criminals Maleeg & Jerome
("Yo, who you know here, you got family over here?")
He a rap artist
("I don't care, he got the wrong colours 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 Sun 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.
[Chorus: Wyclef Jean]
Don't wear your colours here, that cemetery gear.
I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite.
(but that ain't right y'all)
DON'T WEAR YOUR COLOURS HERE! (Colours)
That cemetery gear (Chicago, Chicago)
I got my gun and nine from Hollywood, to your neck of the hood.
[Small World]
Yo, Hollywood has half-man be hollow to you,
How could you have slipped through
while I was detecting the trick that's in you.
Pretending you pitbull, when really your candy-ass is poodle.
We wouldn't of 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 nerd to come around here with pounds of fear.
Your colours wrong you must rock edible dons with that huh?
Damn Paul, what's that huh?
Let me 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.
[Chorus: Wyclef Jean]
Don't wear your colours here, that cemetery gear.
I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite.
(but that ain't right y'all)
DON'T WEAR YOUR COLOURS HERE! (Colours)
That cemetery gear (Detroit, Detroit)
I got my gun and nine from Hollywood, to your neck of the hood.
[Outro: Wyclef Jean]
Tell the FBI that I won't be home tonight.
Tell the Secret Service I won't be home tonight.
Colours, put away your colours whoa, colours...
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