Murder That He Ritt - C-Bo

I don’t know judo

But, down with you know

Strapped with two Glocks

Gone off some Kuno

Headed for the house party on the southside

Four deep in a ragtop six five

Hella bitches (hella bitches)

Hanging out the window

Killer Cali style from foes that eight fifty-fizzle

Hoes don’t stack

'Cause niggas been ballin' crack since the mac (since the mac)

Packin' they gat and won’t think twice to bust a cap (buck)

Sportin' a brim like, Freddy, Krueger

Some drinkin' heavy shooters (shooters)

All strapped down with two Rugers (with two rugers)

I pull over hit the juice on my ride

I got front and back and side to side

In murder that he writ

(The murder show)

The murder that he writ

(The murder show)

In the murder that he writ

I’m a born soldier to these hell made streets

In my dreams when my back is turned somebody’s murderin' me (Uhh)

I’m waking up in cold sweat

Every little noise, I’m hoppin' out the bed reachin' for my tec (tec)

And I’m on the streets I’m very high on paranoia

Looking for the neighborhood destroyas

I’d rather murder than be dead confused

Celebratin' my birthday in the news (uhh)

I drop tears for my dead homies

And did years tryna get my money

And pack a tec for you phonies

And did mines on my only

Turnin' motherfuckers into rest in peace homies

(Murder)

See, I’m a G from the block and when there’s funk it’s on (it's on)

I’ll be the nigga with a strap to your homies dome

Headbuttin'

Crushing them bones

When that HK, Buck 'em (Buck Buck Buck Buck)

Sittin' that ass down

Retaliatin' be some out of state negroes (negroes)

Decapitate and leavin' afros in steel toes (steel toes)

Some more, hard, core, killers (killers)

Ballin' dope dealers (dope dealers)

Klu Klux

The real deal’ah

Bailin' your hood like thrillah

You’re either killa, or vacator get killed by the killa

Now what do you prefer?

It’s best that you disperse

Or be the next verse

Now here come' the big gangster

Hoppin' out the regal

Pants saggin', Fat pockets eagle (fat pockets)

Fifty Cali style

Stackin' up G’s by the pound

Sippin' amaretto (amaretto)

Packin' a throwaway beretta

And been in it to win it since the beginnin'

So when I pose took the slugs with my .44 leaving' niggas froze

It’s fuck you ho’s in the mind of a psycho

Kickin' off rides when the lights go

I did my time on the cell block for sellin' rocks

I’d rather let the cops shell shock then get popped

So next time I’ll protect mine with my tec-9

Havin' wreck time

They can’t check mine

187 killer