Juelz Santana - Creepin Through Ya Hood lyrics

[Intro] (Alternating between Paul Wall and Juelz Santana) Baby Juelz Santana Boy Paul Wall Yea, I mean I know there's a lotta haters on yo side Ya, ya, ya I know they over there hatin on yo side too Oh yeah, but you know we don't give a f** about them n***as f** em [Chorus] We don't give a f** about you We tote big guns, front, we'll pop you We be creepin through ya hood Creepin through ya hood We be mad slow, Mean mug Creepin through ya hood [Juelz Santana] I'm down and I'm dirty with this I'm down to get dirty, ya b**h Aw man, aw damn, the pound is just hurtin my hip f** with me I'll show ya how them pounds and birdies get flipped Play around clown, you'll get found in the dirtiest ditch He like, "Y'all don't give a f** about who?" (Bout who) I'm like, "We don't give a f** about you." (Bout you) Hat low to the front Lean back smokin a blunt A! See that bu*ton? Hit that, dope in the trunk Nope coke in the trunk, nope both in the trunk Up, that gun is on my hip too, I be hopin you stunt You don't want my n***as creepin through ya hood You don't want my n***as creepin through ya wood You don't wanna see that pistol in ya face Homeboy, you don't want my n***as creepin leavin with ya goods So don't play like that (don't) Don't act like that (don't) If you ain't like that, you know, [Chorus] [Paul Wall] I got them windows tinted five percent Presidential limo tint I can see you, but you can't see me 223 with extended clip Them 50 shots gon set it off It's a fire drill, b**h drop an roll Gimme dat watch, Gimme dat chain Empty them pockets and pay the toll I hang wit k**ers out on parole Catch ya cut, run and hide Evacuate, murder for hire Kinda like ol barb from the wire We'll chop you up like garlic cloves and cook ya a** like emmeril the chef Take ya last breath, put on ya vest But im aimin at ya head boy, not ya chest I pack the nine, I start to dine Hit them legs and crease ya up Then I hit the spot wit a bad b**h they'll slob the knob and piece me up And when you wake up in the mornin To the sounds of them choppas roarin I'll wear the heat just like Alonzo And leave ya whole family in mournin I'm in the hood, like wig shops I'm on the grind, on the block Posted up like Yao Ming In the low post, I'm on the box We'll chop ya up like a screw tape and have ya hollerin like the opera but when my sidekick goin off I ain't talkin bout no T-mobile partna [Chorus]