X My Hood

Lyrics

["X My Hood" ft. Mr. Malchau & The Underclassmen i�in _ark1 s�zleri] [Giri_: Parola Nevak�r] Destek ol ve ��z�lecek bi' ba_ka [Verse 1: Parola Nevak�r] Biz zorlad1k bu _ans1 Anla kibiri �tede kilide sok Hesab1 yap ve yolunu bul Umudun �n�ne barikat oldum �ok zeki bi' taraf1m olsa eksiklerime gem vurur Duyar gider bu Rap olur Bula_ma derde, derman1m yok Tam hedefi vurdu Sand1 kand1, biraz yan1ld1 Kabul� ald1m akl1 Fazlas1yla g�naha batt1m Uyand1m �yle bakt1m sonra birden hat1ra geldi (ha) Neydi derdi? S�yle neydi ceremesi? G�r�lecek bi' nesne yok bu �abama sen de destek ol Ve ��z�lecek bi' ba_ka parola yok ki Yolumu kanla Yazd1m anla, fazla gazla kalkt1n Vasats1n, �yk�lerde yer alacakt1r kand1r1rsan kahramans1n Sa1rs1n i_ine gelmez, hi� bi' _eyden haberin olmaz Hey sen! G�nah1n boyna �vg�lerle t�vbe olmaz Tek biz iz b1rakt1k amac1 �ok belirdi Hep tetikte bulunamazd1m Hedefimeyse g�z dikildi [Verse 2: The Underclassmen] From Switzerville is the town Underclassman is our sound But when Christmas comes around I take a flight westbound Swiss LX64 to those MIA shores I settle all my scores Call the folks who get to gore Tricks got no love in store So instead of getting you gifts I deliver swift punches Getting you hospital airlifts I'm on tight shift, chasing green at Christmas Eve Flowing thorough, it's August Mills for those Christmas shoppin' free Drunk and brolic Glocks and hatchets Trust in Underclass CD's Quick to make your sales drop like Saint Nick down the chimney And while you're busy sipping eggnog and bells jingle on your iPod I spit hard bars, getting sluts on my IRod But don't get high, Rob It's a Underclass job I'm a heartless demagogue Spitting words, shredding you apparel While you're happily wrapping presents and singing Christmas carols I'm sticking up your fam, singing a tale of two Pharaohs [Verse 3: Mr. Malchau] 'Tis the season to get off at my jollies I bring it back like a Ren & Stimpy skit to Tchaikovsky With bread and milk, counting change in a kitchen Freezing up one of your ears to make you listen I don't believe in Christmas and I don't believe in God But I give broads eggnog, stick shift to my knob Up for three days cold as the East Coast Up with bloodshot eyes, much redder than Rudolph's nose I want Kournikova to say my name The lottery's combination, then I woke up; it's all the same Been bad all year for trying to give life to hip hop Because a lot of you rappers act like you live rock And that's a White Christmas, like what's good for business But your eyes focus glaring, sharp as scissors Jingle my balls is how I feel Ask Santa Claus and all his helpers for your record deal