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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

Видео-клип к песне Raised In Hell

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