I know you could feel the magic baby
Turn the motherfuckin' lights down
Esco, what up?

What up, homie?

I mean
This is what you expected ain't it?
Let's go
Turn the music up in the headphones
Yeah, that's perfect
You gotta take your time make a nigga wait on this motherfucker
Make a nigga mad and shit like
Niggas usually start rapping after four bars nigga go in
I could start dancin' in this motherfucker
Yeah

Yeah

We just come out of nowhere

I feel like a black republican, money I got comin' in
Can't turn my back on the hood, I got love for them
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in 'em
Probably end up back in the hood, like fuck it then

Huddlin' over the oven, we were like brothers then
Though you were nothin' other then the son of my mother's friend
We had governin' who would have thought the love would end
Like ice cold albums, all good things
Never thought we'd sing the same song that all hoods sing
Thought it was all wood grain, all good brain
We wouldn't bicker like the other fools, talk good game
Never imagine all the disaster that one could reign
Could bring, should blame the game and I could
It's kill or be killed, how could I refrain
Forever be in debt and that's never a good thing
So the pressure for success can put a good strain
On the friend you call best, and yes it could bring
Out of the worst in every person, even the good saint'
And though we rehearsed it, it just ain't the same
When you put in the game at age sixteen
Then you mix things like cars, jewelry, and Miss Thing

Jealously, ego and pride and this brings
It all to a head like a coin, cha-ching
The route of evil strike again, this could sting
Now the team got beef between the post and the point
This puts the ring in jeopardy
Indefinitely

I feel like a black republican, money I got comin' in
Can't turn my back on the hood, I got love for them
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in 'em
Probably end up back in the hood, like fuck it then

I feel like a black militant takin' over the government
Can't turn my back on the hood, too much love for them
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in 'em
Probably end up back in the hood, I'm like fuck it then

I'm back in the hood, they like 'Hey Nas'
Blowin' on purp, reflecting on they lives
Couple of fat cats, couple of AI's
Dreamin' of fly shit, instead of them grey skies
Gray 5's, hate eyes, wishin' our reign dies
Pitch sling pies and niggas they sing 'Why?'
Guess they ain't strong enough to handle their jail time
Weak minds keep tryin' follow the street signs
I'm standing on the roof of my building, I'm feelin'
The whirlwind of beef I inhale it just like an acrobat
Ready to hurl myself through the hoops of fire
Sippin' eighty proof, bulletproof under my attire
Could be the forces of darkness
Against hood angels of good that form street politics
Makes a sweet honest kid turn illegal for commerce
To get his feet out of them Converse
That's my word!

I feel like a black republican, money keep comin' in
Can't turn my back on the hood, I got love for them
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in 'em
Probably in the back in the hood, I fuck it then

I feel like a black militant takin' over the government
Can't turn my back on the hood, too much love for them
Can't clean my act up for good, too much thug in 'em
Probably end up back in the hood, I'm like fuck it then

Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): Carmine Coppola, Leshan Lewis, Nasir Jones, Shawn Carter, Wyatt Coleman