[Chorus]
Leave my heart to the ghetto,
Rubber bands stuffed all in up, oh yeah, oh yeah.
Get money (get money), that's the motto,
Hustle all day then we do the shit tomorrow,
I'm in the ghetto (ghetto), I'm in the ghetto (ghetto)
Gotta get it (gotta get it) that's the motto,
Live for today you might never see tomorrow,
I'm in the ghetto (ghetto), I'm in the ghetto (ghetto)

See I went straight to the pros who done done it like me,
Breakup the flow now they holla "he a beast",
From the city where there's killers and dealas and street beef,
And them crackers on the corner every avenue and place,
And my homies servin' hard cause they livin by the day,
See I do it for my family and hustled by the way,
Now I'm back up on the block ya see I'm cooler than them others,
Certified colored sneakers, keep a fitted for the club,
When I step out on the scene all them hoes be showin' love,
They know that I'm the dude that be ringin' through the block,
Ace, ace, ace, ace, yeah fool heard it rite,
I done been down to the bottom now I'm bound to see the top, my hood.

[Chorus: x2]

You gotta love ya hood,
You need to love your projects,
Hey get me, get me.

I got 'em, a couple triple beams,
About an ounce of bakin soda,
I got that revenue thats hittin' colda than Sammie Sosa,
Ya see growin' up I seen a lot a things I weren't supposed,
So growin' up I lost a lot a people that were closer,
That's why I stay up on my grind and only roll with soldiers,
I hit the block and serve em everything away from soda,
Don't fuck with out the soda,
Sellin' coke with out the cola,
My clientele is strictly rock you can tell it by the odor,
I keep that nino with the mac hid underneath the sofa,
So if you ridin' slngin' tricks I suggest a coma,
Them pussy niggas want me dead so I suggest and dopa.

[Chorus: x2]

You gotta love ya hood,
You need to love your projects,
Hey get me, get me.

Yeah I wake up in the ghetto tryin' dream a couple mill,
I'm forced to get, momma shootin' up and poppin' pills,
Daddy on the porch with no remorse he sittin' still,
This be the city that never pity they would rather kill,
I wipe my eyes and check my clientele who by yourself,
I grab the pots and bakin' soda yeah that odor smell,
Dis be the hood I got connections like a phone cable,
So watch where you work cause a mistake can be fatal,
Cause crakers searchin' for that person tho I'm under table,
Can't find no witness, fuck them snitches,
That get snitches popped, another day just talkin' on the block,
With a million on my glock, and a half off in my sock.

[Chorus: x2]

You gotta love ya hood,
You need to love your projects,
Hey get me, get me.

Writer : WILLIAMS, BOB
Copyright : Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Group