In regards to the meaning of this song:
Before a live performance on the EP Five Stories Falling, Geoff states “It’s about the last time I went to visit my grandmother in Columbus, and I saw that she was dying and it was the last time I was going to see her. It is about realizing how young you are, but how quickly you can go.”
That’s the thing about Geoff and his sublime poetry, you think it’s about one thing, but really it’s about something entirely different. But the lyrics are still universal and omnipresent, ubiquitous, even. So relatable. That’s one thing I love about this band. I also love their live performances, raw energy and Geoff’s beautiful, imperfectly perfect vocals. His voice soothes my aching soul.
Yeah
I still be ridin' through the hood
Brooklyn to Compton, it's all good
From Southside Queens to Inglewood
We representin' like we should
I'm hot, boy, I told you before
Got that Benz and that Hummer off the showroom floor
I know you hate it when I pop up, wrist all rocked up
hood, empty niggas locked up, they rats all knocked up
Baby after baby, the 'hood is crazy
Niggas'll set you up and wet you up, trust me they shady
Got a pet bulldog, I keep under my linen
It don't bark, they spark when the revolver spinnin'
We winnin'
I still be ridin' through the hood
Brooklyn to Compton, it's all good
From Southside Queens to Inglewood
We representin' like we should
Hold up, hold up, get a good look at my rims
Goddamn, look at them twenty-four inch Davin's spin
Now the D's, they harass me in the hood
A few times, niggas tried to blast me in the hood
Fuck it, it's all good
Catch me in the coupe, on the lean
Wit' needles and samples and diesel for the fiends
The money stay on my mind, so I stay on the grind
Plus niggas like to stun, so I stay wit' a .9 (yeah)
I ain't the type nigga that be out, runnin' his mouth
Talkin' gangsta and shit, with my gun in the house
Nah, homie, you better get to know me better
Before you be leakin' pints of blood into your Iceberg sweater
When the talons come flyin' up out the berretta
You gon' feel like it's yo' fault and say, "Man, I knew better"
Look, dog, I don't play that shit
I pull that thing out, I'ma spray that shit
That's how I get down
Brooklyn she's so sick in the hood
Got these rap bitches scared to spit in the hood
'Cause I throw down, and shoot the fifth in the hood
That's what you get for talkin' all that shit in the hood
Yeah, I'm still a minor, remember this
Everything Brooklyn drop, you broads'll fall behind her
Brooklyn to Compton it's all good
Get robbed, get shot, shit is poppin' in the hood
I still be ridin' through the hood
Brooklyn to Compton, it's all good
From Southside Queens to Inglewood
We representin' like we should
I still be ridin' through the hood
Brooklyn to Compton, it's all good
From Southside Queens to Inglewood
We representin' like we should
I still be ridin' through the hood
Brooklyn to Compton, it's all good
From Southside Queens to Inglewood
We representin' like we should
I'm hot, boy, I told you before
Got that Benz and that Hummer off the showroom floor
I know you hate it when I pop up, wrist all rocked up
hood, empty niggas locked up, they rats all knocked up
Baby after baby, the 'hood is crazy
Niggas'll set you up and wet you up, trust me they shady
Got a pet bulldog, I keep under my linen
It don't bark, they spark when the revolver spinnin'
We winnin'
I still be ridin' through the hood
Brooklyn to Compton, it's all good
From Southside Queens to Inglewood
We representin' like we should
Hold up, hold up, get a good look at my rims
Goddamn, look at them twenty-four inch Davin's spin
Now the D's, they harass me in the hood
A few times, niggas tried to blast me in the hood
Fuck it, it's all good
Catch me in the coupe, on the lean
Wit' needles and samples and diesel for the fiends
The money stay on my mind, so I stay on the grind
Plus niggas like to stun, so I stay wit' a .9 (yeah)
I ain't the type nigga that be out, runnin' his mouth
Talkin' gangsta and shit, with my gun in the house
Nah, homie, you better get to know me better
Before you be leakin' pints of blood into your Iceberg sweater
When the talons come flyin' up out the berretta
You gon' feel like it's yo' fault and say, "Man, I knew better"
Look, dog, I don't play that shit
I pull that thing out, I'ma spray that shit
That's how I get down
Brooklyn she's so sick in the hood
Got these rap bitches scared to spit in the hood
'Cause I throw down, and shoot the fifth in the hood
That's what you get for talkin' all that shit in the hood
Yeah, I'm still a minor, remember this
Everything Brooklyn drop, you broads'll fall behind her
Brooklyn to Compton it's all good
Get robbed, get shot, shit is poppin' in the hood
I still be ridin' through the hood
Brooklyn to Compton, it's all good
From Southside Queens to Inglewood
We representin' like we should
I still be ridin' through the hood
Brooklyn to Compton, it's all good
From Southside Queens to Inglewood
We representin' like we should
Lyrics submitted by oofus
In Da Hood Lyrics as written by Andre Romell Young Curtis James Jackson
Lyrics © RINCON AVE MUSIC, BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group, Reservoir Media Management, Inc., Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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Yup you're right again geeballs.
mmm...cheesecake....
this song sucks butt!!!