It's that ghetto bastard, with another hood story.
Strap yourself in, cuz it gets kinda gory.
Nothing boring, I was at the basketball court.
A pick-up game two on two, enjoying the sport.
Girls were wearing shorts and tiny tank tops.
The sun was shining bright, then along came the cops.
All the fun stopped, once they rolled on the scene.
The guys playing craps, all grabbed for their green.
Popo was rolling solo, only one badge in the car.
He parked then climbed out, acting drunk and bizarre.
Looking dazed and confused, talking strange to himself.
We went from being worried, to scared for his health.
Whatever hand he got dealt, was a losing one.
He took a few steps forward, then reached for his gun.
My heart was beating hard, from watching his hands shake.
There's more to the tale, but that's after the break.

CHORUS (2X)
It's a hood story, so move in and listen close.
Tales of where I dwell that get deeper than most.
A place of drugs, crime and ghetto philosophy.
Believe none of what you hear and half of what you see.

The cop's hands were shaking like a Parkinsons patient.
J-Rock ran up the block, saying he couldn't take it.
The cop just watched, like he was dazed for a second.
Then a shot rang out and blood started spreading.
From the back of J-Rock's shirt as he hit the concrete.
People started screaming, running away down the street.
One shot went 'blaow,' then another and another.
Bodies kept falling while running for cover.
I dipped and dodged, tripped lost my I-pod.
Crawled behind a tree, picked up a steel rod.
Less then ten feet away, from the cop on his right.
So close he could feel me, but still out of sight.
Laying on the ground, waiting for the right moment.
Hoping when it came along, I wouldn't blow it.
Blood flowed thru the streets, in a crimson lake.
There's more to the tale, but that's after the break.

CHORUS (2X)
It's a hood story, so move in and listen close.
Tales of where I dwell that get deeper than most.
A place of drugs, crime and ghetto philosophy.
Believe none of what you hear and half of what you see.

The cop laughed while shooting, the scene was wild.
The more people screamed, the wider he smiled.
Like this was a cookout, and everything was all good.
This stuff wouldn't happen, in a white neighborhood.
On TV you would see, swat teams on the scene.
Then his head would be marked with an infra-red beam.
While I was thinking this, the people kept dying.
The psycho kept smiling, I heard a child crying.
The gun swiveled to the left, I swung from the right.
He saw me too late, steel crushed his wind-pipe.
I watched the cop drop, like a sack of potatoes.
The gun spun on the ground, like a metal tornado.
They say he went crazy, cuz his wife got deported.
Cops take care of cops, so no crime was reported.
The moral of the story is, know who to trust.
There's no justice in the world, there's just us.

CHORUS (2X)
It's a hood story, so move in and listen close.
Tales of where I dwell that get deeper than most.
A place of drugs, crime and ghetto philosophy.
Believe none of what you hear and half of what you see.

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