Wizard of Oz - SPM

Now come follow me Down yellow brick road

To easier to see

Hillwood Hustla

Got what you need

It were plain to see

Since the age of three

One day dope fiends’ll be pagin me I got crunk in the game niggas knew my name

Hillwood the place I gain my fame

16 in a 7−7 Seville

Smoke grey gold trim big daddy grill

Back in '86 I was choppin bricks

To think a damn papermate made me rich

I got love for the hustlas in every hood

But hate in your heart it’ll never be good

I feel blessed but confess

I blow sess for my stress

Its that Mex with a S on my chest

None the less I was real with the homies

With the O-Z's running from the police

No peace blow sweets on cold streets

Dope fiends gon bring a nigga more green (echoes)

My money triple sippin ripple living simple

Rolling paper squares out a fat ass nickle

Trick on my dick for the bricks I chop

Pigs in my mix when they hit my block

Used to catch a raid bout every six months

Just a check up to see if id slip once

Call it one time some rhyme bout this shit

I can slide in my sandals but never will I slip

Undercovers hit the set man y’all funny

Taking them crumbs and giving marked money

Trying to convict em I ain’t fallin victim

Fool I know your face and my boys I done hipped em They want me bad so mad as they burn off

Fucking with them hoes now my blunt done turned off

No other way just another day on the spot

If you play then you pay it don’t never stop (echoes)

I wrote this book bout a hopeless crook

Living in the land where the coke is cooked

Where hoes get took and the choke is good

Where smokers hooked and the soldiers hood

That lonely Wood where his homies stood

Trying to change myself if I only could

I’m just your Hillwood Hustla street rhyme rustler

Blowing more smoke than a broke down muffler

But I’m taking losses

It ain’t easy working jobs with no fucking bosses

Selling dope is the hardest thing a man can do Risking life and your freedom for a buck or two

Still I feel if you loose control homie youse a ho Real g’s keep they life on cruise control

When the police kick door and raid my crib

I tell em pigs of the slippers that’s not what I did (echoes)