Hollyhood to Hollywood Lyrics
| Song | Hollyhood to Hollywood |
| Artist | Wyclef Jean |
| Artist | Small World |
| Album | The Ecleftic -2 Sides II A Book |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Jerry "Wonda" Duplessis/Wyclef Jean | |
| (Small 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 | |
| (french singer) | |
| Elle a toutes les qualités, mon grand défaut c'est de t'aimer... | |
| 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 | |
| (french singer) | |
| arrête, arrête ne me touche pas!... | |
| 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... |
| zuo qu : Jerry " Wonda" Duplessis Wyclef Jean | |
| Small 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 hiphop yo | |
| french singer | |
| Elle a toutes les qualite s, mon grand de faut c' est de t' aimer... | |
| 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 | |
| french singer | |
| arr te, arr te ne me touche pas!... | |
| 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 halfman 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 candyass is poodle | |
| We wouldn' t of hit you, hammers have already been | |
| cocked and cleaned, yo, it was who? | |
| It' s clickup, clickup, 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 chinin | |
| 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... |
| zuò qǔ : Jerry " Wonda" Duplessis Wyclef Jean | |
| Small 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 hiphop yo | |
| french singer | |
| Elle a toutes les qualité s, mon grand dé faut c' est de t' aimer... | |
| 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 | |
| french singer | |
| arr te, arr te ne me touche pas!... | |
| 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 halfman 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 candyass is poodle | |
| We wouldn' t of hit you, hammers have already been | |
| cocked and cleaned, yo, it was who? | |
| It' s clickup, clickup, 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 chinin | |
| 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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