Text:
C Bo Til My Casket Drops

'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

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

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

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

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]

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

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

[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

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