Creepin Through Ya Hood Lyrics - Singles - Juelz Santana

[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 fuck about them niggas 

Fuck em 

[Chorus] 

We don't give a fuck 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 

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[Juelz Santana] 

I'm down and I'm dirty with this 

I'm down to get dirty, ya bitch 

Aw man, aw damn, the pound is just hurtin my hip 

Fuck 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 fuck about who?" (Bout who) 

I'm like, "We don't give a fuck about you." (Bout you) 

Hat low to the front 

Lean back smokin a blunt 

A! See that button? 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 niggas creepin through ya hood 

You don't want my niggas creepin through ya wood 

You don't wanna see that pistol in ya face 

Homeboy, you don't want my niggas 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, 

Photos 

[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, bitch drop an roll 

Gimme dat watch, Gimme dat chain 

Empty them pockets and pay the toll 

I hang wit killers 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 ass 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 bitch 

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]