This is a song about "Livin in the hood"

Fistful of wood, twisted for the good

People always dying in the hood, stood

Cause the world that i'm livin' in

I make songs about shit for attention

Livin in the 315 never rollin with ya

Used to call me the african don dada

By the little camera thing on the fuckin' mac book

Just cause im not shootin, smoking, or crippin in the hood

Chasing for the wind but you never win the track meet

Dougie fresh up in the hood and he's bringing me my weed

And when the smoke clears don’t you dare ask who could

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

I'm livin in the the 20th century

And all women who had light features, see