This is a song about "How bad the hood is"

And i don't cook much but i'm tough with that phone book

Been bad all my life, i was raised in the hood

Dear momma don't cry, your baby boy's doin good

That's right bitches, i aint from the hood

See, you're my best friend

Your bad is what is alleged

You thought this was bad this is only the gate

I got six clips to the fuckin' duct tape

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

I got the hood behind me

But all this stress still nobody knows how bad the pain gets.

Blewin' some reefer in my zone like a 2-3 defense

Yeah, inglewoodinglewood always up to no good

Four cuban links on my neck, trap out the hood

But you don't have a chance

Trapping with the hood rats