Yeah, Boss rap stupid
I'm telling you right now Staten Island man
Don't front on me, Yo

I grew up in Staten Island where the doors be locked
Crack dealers be at the building, the floors be hot
Yo Dreds be in the spot selling bags of meth
On a good day, you might see my homeboy Chef
Joelle, he turned rat now he's scared to death
Little kids still running round, way after the dark
At the PF-57 near Policeman Park
In the back they found a new born stuffed in a bag
In the hood brothers die young it makes me sad
Ayo, I dropped out of school a high school Dad
Streets be eating up my brain like weed and hash
Taking trips up town hopping out of the cabs
Ridden calves from the Africans, crashing 'em up
Putting dime into dollar bills smashing 'em up
Instead of passing our grade, we's passing the Dutch
Getting shipped away daily in them slavery trucks

[Chorus]
Ayo what's really up, ayo what's really up
Ayo what's really up, ayo what's really up

In the hood it's only tough love and real tough thugs
Ayo I was the type of dude that didn't stay in the house
I was the type to while out and bring a tree in the house
And Momma Love used to tell me not to be like that
But I'll be gone for a week like I'll be right back
Staten Island, Yo, we can't stop the hustle
Ayo these thugs used to work for this kid named Muscle
Watch out for ply yeah, 'cause that kid might bust you
Even though we hang tight yo we really don't trust you
Got brothers that'll shake your hand and then they'll cut you
But if your blood like me then the litter can't touch you
And it's the hood that got the world going insane
Even the suburbs, they know about the crack cocaine
It's the hood that drove brothers like Shorty insane
Ayo what's really up, brother can't even maintain

[Chorus]