Out Of Towner Lyrics - Hood Morning - Game

Yeah blood, let's take these niggas back to 96, 11th grade when a nigga was walking the Compton High School. Cincinnati Red fitted snug on my motherfucking forehead. Nike backpack on, you know like Durant be wearing. Nike straps tighter than a virgin pussy Illmatic in the Walkman, what? 

Sitting on the subway they looking like "who is that? " 

The boy gutter all hood New York sewer rat 

You can never mace me, where Cuda at? 

They love me out in Harlem like a ten dollar buddha sack 

I spit that I'll Street Blues, yeah Kool G Rap 

But my style is big, where the Coogis at? 

I said my style is Big now light a L 

As I skip to the next track on Supreme Clientele 

Ghost to Manhattan, seat reclined in the Aston 

Time for glasses cause NY is into fashion 

Madison. Square. Garden. Feeling like Spike Lee's squares, Jordans 

You squares ain't important 

Fresh to death my gear's in a coffin 

[Cough cough] Why that nigga coughin'? 

Blowing that sour diesel I ain't be here that often 

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Riding on the A train, listening to Ghostface 

I'm just ridin on the A train, listenin to Ghostface 

Riding on the A train, listening to Ghostface 

I'm just riding on the A train, listening to Ghostface 

Pull up in that Derrick Rose hop out number nines or elevens 

You niggas is copycats, my style is patent leather 

South side of the Chi nigga I ain't packing never 

I ain't shy of the Chi, Jay Cutler in cold weather 

And all I do is win, 72 and 10 

Ball like Mike, Scottie, Dennis Rodman and them 

7-4 Chevelle, niggas riding in them 

Killers from Cabrini-Green I was riding with them 

Pelle jackets niggas out here robbing in them 

And even getting coat-jacked ain't Common to him 

Keep thinking you Larry Hoover that line'll have you shook 

That's that Crack Music nigga forgot I was on the hook 

G.D.s, Vice Lords, Four Corner Hustlers 

Latin Kings, MCs, all em will fuck with us 

Blowing trees like the windy city 

Nigga I blow trees in the Windy City 

Photos 

Riding on the L train, listening to Kanye 

I'm just riding on the L train, listening to Kanye 

I'm just riding in on the L train, listening to Kanye 

Said I'm riding on the L train, listening to Kanye 

I be in Lil Haiti 

First forty eighty 

Ain't nothing bout to go down nigga my fam's Zoe Pound 

And ever since they locked my nigga Zo down 

Everything slow down, but my nigga Ross is on 

The homie Khaled put the Boss's on 

We blowing orange like the Dolphins home 

And we don't floss the chrome 

We turn that Wildcat offense on 

That New Era fly off ya dome 

I'm about to take my talents to South Beach 

I don't even go to the games, but got Heat 

Ain't no Trickin Daddy, I take a bitch to get some Cuban food 

Have a couple mojitos then fuck her like a Cuban do 

Riding down Collins in the newest coup 

Flo-Rida on the place they think I'm Uncle Luke 

Nigga Tony Montana, who the fuck is you? 

I'm the all-red side of the Rubik's Cube 

Riding in the fast lane, listening to Rozay 

I'm just ridin in the fast lane, listening to Rozay 

Riding in the fast lane, listening to Rozay 

I'm just riding in the fast lane, listening to Rozay