Gurl'Z In Da Hood, Poem by James McLain

We tremble them, they make us stutter,
obscene things,
it make the butter that boyz breath, seem clean in them..

We grind um, they grind more..we follow, we try..they are always
in our side, asking more, demanding the big dance of grind..
the payday, likud to DAR tric, hoodless we to them succumb.

They are the power, colorless, mind numbing taste, pink buds
forever, in the hood, swish is to lite or dark, without
no prejudice, she rules with a choice, stream lined.

Roll in then and turn out the lites, the crack of ur voice blows
the hood away, in the heat of your moment, i dance to the
beat wild such are free.

Dumped, like a sack of eyeless potatoe heads, on the hood
of your ride, tucks me in all the time sung to sleep in the smell
of her hood..
I ride that crab as well, plucked from da swells off her seas.
I am a white boyz, smoked mullet head i know...in ur winks....