Letra de 'Hollywood' de Bizzy Bone

-Bizzy Bone-Intro-
Shit nigga look at that nigga over there. Old haten ass, broke ass nigga man. (Man I don't even know what I came to do to these people man) Broke ass nigga. I got no excuses, boutta just come up in this motherfucker (Go over there and give that nigga some money). Not givin me props n shit, this is how I feel about this man. Shit, whoop yall niggas ass dog. This is the rap game dog.

-Bizzy Bone-Hook-
Dirty rotten, never forgot, always plotin' and I ain't scared to say it, "I feel the Lord is watching!"/ Jesus'll walk a mile, give me a hundred thousand and then a hundred loses, but I can't be a coward

-Bizzy Bone-
He's discombobulate, them minds scrambled eggs (Scrambled eggs) and brothas feel me comin,' I started gunnin' big, hit'em up in two thousand and trizzle, heads feelin' the bullets and the death on my back on the fa shizzle!/ Ooh, tell me whats critical, is it your reputation?/ Anyone attack it wait for the incubation, now for your mother fucking information Bizzy's a thug! I never expected to be accepted, shit, I was just sellin' drugs/And reflect it in my music, the people spoted the real, that had my homeboy's salty, still ain't swallowed the pill/ Popin' the bubbly for this million dollar deal, Bizzy finally got his money, these suckas, they want a trill, keep it real, good, bad and ugly/ Four in the mornin' lookin' under my bed for Ripley's the Rears/ Oh shit, and thinkin' about all that, Ruthless, you keep your job, I'm a Universal Soujah! Thank God! (Thank God!)

-Bizzy Bone-Chorus-
Let me thank the Lord, like I always will!/ Never move to Hollywood, uh, keep it keep it real!....

-Bizzy Bone-
Mind on my money, my money and my mob and my Benz and my friends and my job!/ I still miss Wish's Uncle Charles, reachin' the stars, everybody talkin' Bone breaking up, nigga, Flesh behind bars/ He the one that bought the tickets, can I get any realer? Baby I'm just the realest/ (Noooow) back to the real shit, (Real shit) mental, methodic push the hottest product, Bizzy through Ghetto College, checkin' out up out of garbage/ Man I'm not Eddie Cane, and I'm not David Ruffin (Ruffin), and I'm not Michael Jackson (Jackson), nigga, I'm a say something! I'm not incompitent (Compitent), never a pill fiend, I only smoke some weed, and sip some Hennesey/ Is that too thuggish for you?/ Well if it is, I'm sorry/ Give me no Grey Goose, Gator Skin, White Marley's/ Thinkin' bout all that, Ruthless can keep the job/ Bungalo, bright and swole, (Sweet Jesus) Praise God!

-Chorus-

-Bizzy Bone-
I could never even look at my nigga's girl, never try to stick it to his babie's mama for ... nothin in the world!/ Why snitch, switch and be a bitch? (Bitch)/ Man you on some bullshit, oh yeah/ I don't want to be friends, who needs enemies?/ So stay the fuck away from the Benz when it comes to your facinity/ Besides, with jealousy you might get fucked up, but, with no KY Jelly, only movin' when God tell me, let me man up and tell my story, (Because) it ain't no tellin' how many records I be sellin/ So who you callin' pretty boy/ Boy you a funny man, a modern day Schwarzenegger, but im not Running Man/ Thats the only metaphor that I'm giving you niggas tonight, that ain't even my steez, nigga please/ Show Rollin Stones just what that thug life like, right (What?) I'd like to thank you for putting me in your article, practically destroyed my life...

-Chorus-