C-BO - RAISED IN HELL LYRICS

Writer(s):MOSLEY, MICHAEL/THOMAS, SHAWN/HIMES, GERLAD
Artist: C-bo Lyrics
Popularity: 22 users have visited this page this week.

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featuring Big Syke
Verse One: see 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 ***
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 *****s hate me, can I keep it real and feel this rap ****?
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 ****in grave, mass murder ************s 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
*****, **** the world, I was raised in hell

Chorus: see-Bo
That's why we buck **** down and yell "**** 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 *****s raised in hell
*repeat*

Verse Two: Big Syke
I'm bailin through the set wit a 40, smokin a cigarette
Blastin my radio, oldie tunes by The Marvalettes
Gangbangin vets on parole as I stroll through
They rassle Gz like two craps and they strapped too
Oh how I love these *****s but I hate em with a passion
But I ride for these ************s, when I don't even ask
Thug fashion from head to toe, I let the world know
that this is Thug Life, ************, 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 through and ride on me they won't get far
Big homey got out, hold 22's on a hang
Runnin around, sweatin ************s, 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: see-Bo
It ain't no love for ***** *****s
as I dump slugs and pull the plug on you ***** *****s
Pick up my phone and have some thugs hit you trick *****s
wit on gloves or low tommy guns on them stitch *****s
Hit *****s with H-K's, split *****s with AK's when we mash for the cash
Doin a hundred, blastin buck shots off in that ***
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 "***** ***** die"
We's about be a killer *****, 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, 'cause we was raised in hell

Chorus

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Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing

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