Project Love

[Intro: Hell Razah]

Pain, struggle, we gotta hold our head up, as a people

Youknowhatimsayin, we on a prowl

Can't forget the struggle, son, we all go through

G.G.O.

[Hell Razah:]

This for the baby mothers, broken hearted

Five seeds in a one bedroom apartment

I feel the hunger of my brothers eatin' out the garbage

And all my locked up and dead baby fathers, over lady heartaches

We play with automatics and revolvers

I know chain robbers could of been Vince Carters

Can't ignore it, cause the pain bother

Different book, but the same author

Recognize, we are the same father

We just try'nna feed our family tree

So our seeds be insanity free

Instead of locked up for scramblin' ki's

OG's comin' home, he had it sowned

But the corner pay phone, in '89, but he stuck in that zone

Little Tasha, eight months, and got a baby by the neighborhood chump

Who'd rather smoke blunts, then bring home lunch

Young ones bustin' they guns with Gem stars under they tongues

They got the fathers locked away from the sons

[Chorus: Hell Razah]

Every time I count money and I think about my dead homies

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy)

Every time I read a jail letter, thinkin' it's gon' get better

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy)

Every time I hear a seed dyin', more mothers cryin'

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy)

It's nothin' like the hood...

[Hell Razah:]

Drug shipments, welfare recipients worship Clinton

Meanwhile, we got no food in the kitchen

Grandmothers turned Christian, try to warn 'em but he ain't listen

Now it's phone calls from prison, daddy little girl is missin'

Thirteen when she started kissing, she came in late pops was flippin'

Momma's boy, sold his cracks, to be employed

Not noticin' we caught in the trap, to be destroyed

Lookin' out of cab window, same babies in the carriage, now sell indo

Carry an info', the sore losers can't win, so they spread rumors

Corrupt cops, either lock or shoot us

We love the hood with a ghetto respect, Nat Turner

The burner be the mind first amendment, say it, cause I meant

Don't care about those who get offended

We rock like Jimi Hendrix, me and my kindred

Street corner experts, in jeans and a sweatshirt

Teammates kick dirt, for CREAM and a network

Your back'll get stabbed for that cash money bag

You ain't a thug, 'cause your chain, gun and doo-rag

New car, new lab, powerful weed from just two drags

You coughin' on oregano, be careful who you follow bro'

Someone to push your Bentley, but they ain't ready though

Someone to be an M.C., and on the radio

Some sell yayo, it's tricks in the ghettio

Chick where my cash go? You just like the last hoe

Bloomberg fucked up the crack flow, we let gats blow

Twisted colors on our capsule, turn projects to castles

You ever heard of the Black Jews? You seen us on the five o'clock news

[Chorus: Hell Razah]

Every time I count money and I think about my dead homies

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy)

Every time I read a jail letter, thinkin' it's gon' get better

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy)

Every time I hear a seed dyin', more mothers cryin'

(It be that hood love, that keep me healthy)

It's nothin' like the hood...