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Testi Wyclef Jean - HOLLYHOOD TO HOLLYWOOD
Testi-musica-canzoni.it > Testi lettera W > Wyclef Jean > Unknown - HOLLYHOOD TO HOLLYWOODSmall World) 
 Blame, blame, whose dat with you again? 
 (The ride, the ride) 
 Yes black, where's my jewels at? 
 (Uptown, uptown, uptown, uptown...) 
  
 (Wyclef Jean) 
 Yo, let's get back to the hardcore right now 
 Underground hip-hop yo (*foreign singing*) 
 This one's a gangsta tune, whassup Fosha? 
 I'ma send this one out to all the refugee gangs around the world 
 Signal, signal, y'all need to chill with the driveby's 
 It was the Fourth of July I heard the cherry bomb bang 
 Stay in the house that’s the sound of the gangs, Clef 
 By the time we figured out what happened 
 I was in an ambulance tellin my cousin keep breathing 
  
 (Chorus: Wyclef Jean) 
 Don't wear your colours here, that cemetery gear 
 I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite  
 (but that ain't right y'all) 
 DON'T WEAR YOUR COLOURS HERE! 
 That cemetery gear (California, California) 
 I got my gun and nine from Hollywood, to your neck of the hood 
  
 (Wyclef Jean) 
 True, true, yo Hollywood got a lot of kids twisted 
 Jumpin in and out of limo's thinkin is his ass really gifted 
 The only gift y'all possess is workin with the triple six's 
 Y'all disguise yourself with bandanas and diamond necklaces 
 Mosta y'all can't even go back to the hood where y'all grew up 
 Actin like y'all drink alcohol and all y'all do is throw up 
 Talk about when y'all blow up y'all gonna visit the project floors 
 But the last time they saw y'all was 1984 
 Now y'all wonder, why they got all hoodies screamin "freeze" 
 Get out the navigator, Godfather III's in the DVD 
 They hoppin, they take your car for a spin 
 It's cold outside so all you feel is the wind 
 There's no celly phone, so you can't phone home 
 Oh lord, here come those criminals Maleeg & Jerome 
 ("Yo, who you know here, you got family over here?") 
 He a rap artist  
 ("I don't care, he got the wrong colours over here, no fear") 
 Now you look shook like that Mobb Deep song 
 I'm surprised, cause on all y'all records you was Al Capone 
 And come to find out that you never held a chrome 
 And you escaped the draft and never bust a shot in Vietnam 
 Now you standin in the form amongst the children of the corn 
 Like the Sun of Man stood with a crown made of thorns 
 The only difference is for you there'll be no resurrection 
 Cause it's a traffic jam, they got you locked up in a intersection 
  
 (Chorus: Wyclef Jean) 
 Don't wear your colours here, that cemetery gear 
 I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite  
 (but that ain't right y'all) 
 DON'T WEAR YOUR COLOURS HERE! (Colours) 
 That cemetery gear (Chicago, Chicago) 
 I got my gun and nine from Hollywood, to your neck of the hood 
  
 (Small World) 
 Yo, Hollywood has half-man be hollow to you 
 How could you have slipped through 
 while I was detecting the trick that's in you 
 Pretending you pitbull, when really your candy-ass is poodle 
 We wouldn't of hit you, hammers have already been 
 cocked and cleaned, yo, it was who? 
 It's click-up, click-up, north cackus, commence to stick up 
 That's what's within us, cack and lack, clap, buck killers quicker 
 Stick up the forest misters then head up to chickens with 'em 
 Adrenaline's givin, when I riff with the fifth to your chin-in 
 You never knew bout how we play these innings 
 But you about to play the commission 
 Waves are spinning, I'm out the glaze I'm sh...ing 
 The real is missing but the fraud is evident 
 ever so clear, but you got the nerd to come around here with pounds of fear 
 Your colours wrong you must rock edible dons with that huh? 
 Damn Paul, what's that huh? 
 Let me get that, with the quick snatch 
 If it's a little man in you then I better put the trick back 
 And if it's anything killers is fearing, I know my clit stacked for realer 
  
 (Chorus: Wyclef Jean) 
 Don't wear your colours here, that cemetery gear 
 I got my gun and nine, killing's my appetite  
 (but that ain't right y'all) 
 DON'T WEAR YOUR COLOURS HERE! (Colours) 
 That cemetery gear (Detroit, Detroit) 
 I got my gun and nine from Hollywood, to your neck of the hood 
  
 (Outro: Wyclef Jean) 
 Tell the FBI that I won't be home tonight 
 Tell the Secret Service I won't be home tonight 
 Colours, put away your colours whoa, colours
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