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k. michelle – supa hood lyrics

[intro]
b-beats for the stars

[verse 1: k. mich-lle]
901 on my phone comin’ through
young n-gga, street dude, 22
sorry, i’m not ’bout to play wit’ you (i’m so sorry)
’cause if we f-ckin’, you f-ck off, then i’ma shoot (shoot, yeah, shoot)
memphis n-ggas drive me crazy (crazy)
i may let him f-ck and he ain’t even gotta pay me (he gotta pay)
he be wit’ the sh-t, never fugazi
he don’t hesitate to shoot for a lady
i roll his weed and how he like to buy my weave
and he be off the drink, i need it
i admit that i love this sh-t

[pre-chorus: k. mich-lle]
’cause the hooder the better, we badder together
the richer the n-gga, the p-ssy get wetter
the hooder the better, we badder together
the richer the n-gga, the p-ssy get wetter (yeah)

[chorus: k. mich-lle]
super hood (super, super)
super hood (super, super)
super hood (super, super)
super hood, i love my n-ggas
super hood (super, super)
super hood (super, super)
super hood (super, super)
super hood, i love my b-tch
super hood (super, super)
super hood (super, super)
super hood (super, super)
super hood, i love my d-ck
super good (super, super)
super good (super, super)
super good (super, super)
super good, i love my b-tch

[verse 2: yung miami]
when they super hood, yeah, that be super good (d-mn)
it’s just somethin’ ’bout them n-ggas when they out the hood (oww)
i let him hold my [?] with no licence (yep)
knock a b-tch out, got ’em like i’m mike tyson (haha)
if he call me and i’m sleep, b-tch, i’m wakin’ up (i’m wakin’ up)
it’s like every other week, we be breakin’ up (child, please)
the only n-gga that can smoke weed in my car
if we get pulled over, stash the weed in my bra
let him hit raw, might give a baby to him (yep)
i’m super crazy ’bout him, god know i love ’em hood (god knows)
i ain’t goin’ nowhere, lets get that understood
i just love my n-ggas hood (period)

[pre-chorus: k. mich-lle]
the hooder the better, we badder together
the richer the n-gga, the p-ssy get wetter
the hooder the better, we badder together
the richer the n-gga, the p-ssy get wetter (yeah)

[verse 3: kash doll]
if he ain’t a hood n-gga, why bother?
richer [?] father
a block baby with more cabbage than a farmer
the type of n-gga used to trap out the [?]
used to have goals but he got rid of those
went from movin’ o’s to f-ckin’ wit’ ceo’s
when bad b-tches controls, neck and wrists get froze
and them the type of n-gga, soak my p-ssy through my clothes
and um, chocolate brown, nice smile, that’s the kind i like
kinda wild but that n-gga got his money right (right)
if i tell him “it’s a go”, he won’t hit the brakes
and you know that n-gga keep that fire on him just in case

- k michelle lyrics

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