C-Bo

C-Bo - Raised In Hell

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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
Get this song at:
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Author: ?

Composer: ?

Publisher: ?

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Language: English

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