't leave shit to them bitches I raise my right hand with a Tek and my left I swear I'll ride til my death or touch collide, til my judgment, til I rest
of chromes out my window, could it be the S-P-I-C-E wit a fifth of hin, yay an indo, Black Bossalini. [Chorus] [Verse 3: C-BO] We puts it down like
to make a pair of dice out of some toilet tissue Fan mail from my fans, get up out of jail Waitin for my court ap-pail [C-Bo] Nigga pass the strap and
the parkin lot, pointin out the window Stuck off indo, bumpin my nigga C-Bo Bitches all in my business cos they think I move kilo's I, call my people'
try to dack me in my neighbourhood, I'm dumpin And ya best ta run cos my BGz is comin Clips full of teflons, loc'd out and crazy and they won't stop til
Voice Speaking:] Walked in the club and said a nigga drugs do us all Looked up and see my nigga Big C-Bo [Verse 5: C-Bo] Check I was born to this life
steady ballin [Chorus] [C-Bo] From the Valley to the Bay, I'm known for stackin chips My 500 whip be hip with the AMG hit '74 drop Caprice, gold ones
C-Bo] Twenty five years old, still tryin to make a livin off-a one live, then they're only slugs give a nigga Fuck holes in my chest, took my last breath
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]
they makin profit I need a money-makin bitch to satisfy my needs Some pussy, dough, diamonds and G's So when I swoop in my coupe, out to get my loot Collect
a ride until my casket drops [Chorus] Murder, money, power, pistols and warfare Kill all my black folks and the peckerwoods wouldn't care Keep my head
heart, no glory 25 with a L cos the judge couldn't feel my story Oh no, not me, I got kids to feed Shoot my way out any situation til' death do me Part
the E-C's, avalon watchin L-B's Compton, Track New Park, the S-P-C's Bakersfield, Fresno, Seven Trees Duece nine outlies N-S-G's My Bgz got to trippin
picks Flagged up, ain't your momma's style when we dip Young hogs creepin thru the fog Ready for combat, just me and my dogg Fuck y'all, other niggas all on my
[Verse 1: C-Bo] My first name is Smith, my last name is Wesson, but in yo hood I'm known as 357, have yo neighborhood punk quick to shoot a man, an
many pounds is it in a ton? Got to be about your uhh, uhh, uhh..... [Verse One: C-Bo] I slide thru, the 5-double 0 drop S-C '97 Sport and shorts and
no date So I'm putting all my belongings on Greyhound bus #22 Bound to another state, me and my crew Unpacked my shit, stacked my grip California and Pete Wilson can suck my
Traduzione: C Bo. Til My Casket Drops.
