featuring Big Syke



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