Til' My Casket Drops lyrics

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 have Clark Kent thinkin that he's superman
wit six in the cylinders chambers I'm the cup of curs that got ya
feelin like the ultimate banger
but some fools misuse my abilities doin drive by shootin everything
they see

[Featuring Outlaw Immortalz]
Intro: (Voice speaking)
You rang
Is you down kichy or even might love to me
Payin' bangin' another time
Look we got the trigger to quicker the caper
Fools leavin' they guns
from the guns to the care to the bed to the scoop
In this life ain't nothing they can think off
But working overtime nigga
Some motherfucking hard labor

[Featuring Mississippi]
If you've got a ton of big face hundred dollar bills
How much money would you have?
And every hundred dollar bill weigh a gram
and there's 28 grams in an ounce and there's 16 ounces in a pound
How 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

featuring Lunasicc Laroo

Now it's on flip me at '7 8 Coupe
Reds hydraulics duece representin the do
and you can trip if ya wanna but boy you be's a goner
Leavin bloody footprints from Sacramento to Palmona
I'm a dog when it come to this gangsta shit
A young hog from the block and never shrank to fit
Roll with the Hoovers and the E C's avalon watchin L B's

featuring Marvaless Pizzo Mac Mall JT Tha Bigga Figga Killa Tay

[Marvaless]
Yeah ladies first so watch me set it off even the brothers can't touch us
Professional Ballers is what they call us ain't no tellin who we're bailin
Kentucky Texas ATL strikin in a Lexus
The nigga that wanna test this
Thought this shit was shut down thought this shit was dead like Makaveli

featuring 151 Mob Figgas

And we be blastin smashin for the loot
I empty my strap and then I dash to my Coupe
Ain't no half steppin it's West Coast til I die
Keepin the bundle and never fumble my 4 5
With only one life to live nigga we're still ridin
We attack and murder and watch the scrilla multiply
Fuck the funkity five big business and expeditions

Mo' murder mo' murder

A body fulla tack 2's battlescars from bullet wounds
New clothes diamond medallions from paid dues
Niggas that ride til they rue with the attitude of
'fuck the world' from tryin to kill us everytime we move
You're perpetratin to be a killer but I know you're fakers
Them jealous cowards killed my nigga 2PAC in Vegas

[Featuring Lunasicc 151]
Chorus: C Bo
All I ever wanted was a pair of Nikes
A Lexus a mansion and eternal life
Maybe what it was I was askin for too much
Prayin to God thinkin 'did he give a fuck?'
Twelve years old I was always told
Every day I want it that glitter ain't gold
But fuck that shit I want a twelve inch dick
A Coupe a chrome and a money makin bitch

[Featuring Laroo Lil' Bo The Mob Figgas]
I see so many murders in these Cali streets
I load the strap in the battle won wit death to get beat who ever
thinks
of defeat?
When in ??? ??? I keep my eyes on the prize
Cos ain't nobody killin me I be the Big Gangsta
>From up North no pain no gain
Nigga fuck the fame slide the chips and serve caine

We like to murder in combat war on the streets
.4 5 Glock 40's on sight to see
Me and the homies run deep like a wild pack of wolves
Attack like the Congo's when niggas talk bull
Better step and get further before them hollow tips spit
The Vulcan automatic with the Vulcan death grip
Walk the strip and still tote see four in the tip

[Featuring Killa Tay JT Tha Bigga Figga]
We dump slugs and fuck thugs for their drugs
When push come to shove ain't no motherfuckin love
Bow down we just hit the town
But we brung shit like Hitler bail em with a Sigma
Switch with the first shot gotta check the spot
Burnin rubber out the parkin lot pointin out the window
Stuck off indo bumpin my nigga C Bo

You know I never was no choir boy
Ya folks got a gang of priors
Maybe that's why the one time's be triflin
Tryin to give a young nigga thirty five to life
When I ain't even done nothin wrong off icer
I have no in fo to offer ya
He asked my name so I came off the brain
Told him "I'm John Doe and this is my hoe Jane"

Ballin in a 600SL
drop top with the fat V12
Money hella long smoke blunts not a bong
Niggas can't fuck cos I crunch em like Kong
I be deadly as The Predator
My .50 calibre Desert Eagle'll spread ya and behead ya
Pistol wieghs a tonne bullets come like a guillotine
Poisonous tips hit and explode thru the war scene
Like morphine and heroin I'm the shit

f/ Mob Figgas

Verse One: 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

I, squeeze my Mag and I'm taggin him to his death ridah

Surpise the whole block when we slide up

An expedition in business, holdin them 9's up

First to die be the first nigga that speak

f/ 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

f/ E-40

[C-Bo]

It's all about that, scrilla scratch, flossin a bad batch and pushin

somethin luxury when it ship the sector snack my semen
Drank the diamonds, geechie dub shinin

Ninety-seven sport drop Benz, gettin mine

You can hate and catch the tip of the blade of my sawed A-K

It's West coast mafia for the Midwest to the Bay