Lyrics Murder That He Ritt - C-Bo

Murder That He Ritt

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