Whos hood this is I think I know.
His crib be in the suburbs, tho;
He will not catch me chillin here
To fill his hood all up with snow.
My little hos must think I'm queer
To stop without my homeboys near
Between the hood and cops on take
The garbage reekin piss and beer.
They give their fuck me boots a shake
To ask should they go on the make.
The only other sounds the beep
Of pager calls for wake n bake.
The hood be lonely, dazed and deep.
But I have dreams to deal for cheap,
And bills to pay before I weep,
And bills to pay before I weep.
(Yo, Frosty - aint no thing)