This is a song about "The brooklyn hood"

Stealin' phones to call home but the line is off the hook

I rap for the children who don't wanna be in the hood,

Call the crib, same number same hood

Lobsters and shrimp im good

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

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

If theres a time that in the hood

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

Supporting a real rat pack still live in the hood

By the little camera thing on the fuckin' mac book

A couple of y'all ain't took a field trip to the hood

Lookin back in my yearbook, all the years took

Bitches don't clap with their hands, so i do not talk to my hands

States the fate of an artist bent on brooklyn banks/