This is a song about "Just the way of the hood"

By the little camera thing on the fuckin' mac book

I moved you up to hills, out the ills of the ghetto hood

To mcs that don't rhyme good

From hollywood to the hood

But you niggas too weak, but just give me 2 weeks and i'm good

These are al the symptoms of growing up in tha hood.

Adapt to being black, strapped and gang tats, look

If theres a time that in the hood

Call the crib, same number same hood

Fistful of wood, twisted for the good

My issue isn't televised and you ain't gotta tell the wise

Just try to analyze ill pulverize all in the way of my rise