Hot

The streets (hot, hot)
The hood (hot, hot)
The block (hot, hot)
The haters (hot, hot)
They mad (hot, hot)
For sure (hot, hot)
I know (hot, hot)

I know that these niggas hot
'Cause I'm getting guap
And they really not Whippin' up the pot running up a knot
If you owe me some cash, give me all that you got

You owe I'm in the trap with a Glock
Thirty-three shots aim it at your top never miss a opp
When I let it pop the whole crowd get to running like ants off
A rock I'm your resident president bitch I'm barack

My lil bitch, she intelligent, smart on the cock
If you mad at me why would you punch on the clock?
Before I punch on a nigga, I point with the Glock
You a snitch

You a snitch, go to court and go point at your pops
Never told on a nigga, bitch, go check my docs
Where I'm from nigga we catchin' bodies for props
Shoot that boy in the head, make his whole body drop

I'm connected, I feel like a layover
I smoke a blunt to the face, get my day over
Opps in the hood and they think they gon' take over
But we come in all colors like Crayola

It's hot in the streets and you know it
You say you got heart, lil' nigga come show it
He shot at me miss hit the back of the board
When I shot I didn't miss he in back of my ford

The streets (hot, hot)
The hood (hot, hot)
The block (hot, hot)

The haters (hot, hot)
They mad (hot, hot)
For sur(hot, hot)
I know

(Hot, hot)
The streets (hot, hot)
The hood (hot, hot)
The block (hot, hot)

The haters (hot, hot)
They mad (hot, hot)
For sure (hot, hot)
I know (hot, hot)



Credits
Writer(s): James Lee Baker, Darzell Triplett
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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