RU: 0-9 А Б В Г Д Е Ж З И К Л М Н О П Р С Т У Ф Х Ц Ч Ш Щ Э Ю Я
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Verse One: C-Bo
I was born in hell without a pistol Now how can I survive with one live without a vest and 4-5? Runnin from the Task Fo` but smashin for my cash Bankin corners, hop it then I blast on their ass See them piggies want me dead for sure or in the pen doin 10, instead of me in my Benz on some twins Sippin Hen, smokin indica bomb and keep my pedal to the metal til I`m high and gone I know you rich niggas hate me, can I keep it real and feel this rap shit? Didn`t make me, got out the pen and flip the `97 drop Mercedes, I`m the *?placenta?* of no love Til the lord save me, straight thugs that`ll dump slugs til they fuckin grave, mass murder motherfuckers to the front page When we hit, we empty clips til we get paid I`ve been a slave from my cradle to the grave Nigga, fuck the world, I was raised in hell Chorus: C-Bo That`s why we buck shit down and yell "Fuck the world!" I`d rather die here in hell then die doin life in jail But take the shot with a Mac 12, order hits on the *?pack tailed?* >From the block to Wotts, we are thug niggas raised in hell *repeat* Verse Two: Big Syke I`m bailin thru the set wit a 40, smokin a cigarette Blastin my radio, oldie tunes by The Marvalettes Gangbangin vets on parole as I stroll thru They rassle Gz like two craps and they strapped too Oh how I love these niggas but I hate em with a passion But I ride for these motherfuckers, when I don`t even ask Thug fashion from head to toe, I let the world know that this is Thug Life, motherfucker, til I leave this ho So as my knuckles drag the concrete, big homies hit the streets Transgressions under pressure, preyin on the weak I sink like a fish, I wish upon a ghetto star If the enemies come thru and ride on me they won`t get far Big homey got out, hold 22`s on a hang Runnin around, sweatin motherfuckers, talkin bout "Let`s throw them thangs" Bang, I hit him with a bat and heard his skull crack Then I got *?him the wind in the trach?* til he shattered, to get the Mac Chorus Verse Three: C-Bo It ain`t no love for bitch niggas as I dump slugs and pull the plug on you bitch niggas Pick up my phone and have some thugs hit you trick niggas wit on gloves or low tommy guns on them stitch niggas Hit niggas with H-K`s, split niggas with AK`s when we mash for the cash Doin a hundred, blastin buck shots off in that ass True outlaws ready for war, souls will never die The same day we meet death, the same day we ride Dumpin slugs with Tek 9`s, more bulletproofs my 4-5 I just let em fly, screamin out "Bitch nigga die" We`s about be a killer nigga, look outside Tell me one reason why I should pray for eternal life Born and taught in hell, with a gun store on every corner Bodyguard, bulletproof doors, it`s hard to be a goner Strapped with heat, these West Coast streets of Killafornia From day one, they have straps on em, cos we was raised in hell Chorus
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