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(feat. Black Jesus, Killah Priest, Timbo King) |
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[Intro: Timbo King] |
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Yo.. +In Here+, +In Here+, +In Here+ |
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+In Here+, yo, yo... |
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[Chorus 1: Timbo King] |
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You can smoke +In Here+, get loc'd +In Here+ |
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Wanna bubble? Got raw coke +In Here+ |
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Fucky fucky, bitches sellin' ass +In Here+ |
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Got all my niggas up +In Here+ |
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[Timbo King] |
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Eh-yo, fight like _Cats and Dogs_, rats and hogs |
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Watered down Naia shit, Niagara Falls |
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The nut buster, bust nuts at bitches' walls |
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Ricochet, watch it bounce off like kid-neys |
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The Y-chromosome, +Young God+ own a home |
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Picture my son _Home Alone_, I'm spittin' fome on a cordless phone |
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My valium's high, Dark Denim's on, you can ask Karl Kani |
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Attract urban cells, Colt .45 shells |
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Shotti shells, seashells in Fort Lauderdale |
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I love hella right, always smellin' right |
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Equester you my shit, fuck an express overnight |
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I'm from Poverty-ville, probably will |
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Cuz the prob' remain nothin', that's all, my revolver still |
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Kick fast, corporate thugs learn to kick back |
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Used to eat three-hundred thousands off a mis-pack |
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Of crills, who you know could back a deal |
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Quicker than you can say, "Yo, crack can kill"? |
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Murder one, catch a body off of self-defence |
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My mic rinse be my evidence |
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Yo, eh-yo, Royale, +Purple Rain+, what's my hood? |
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Y'all too easy to break, like plywood |
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Get high, Mr. Magic fly Tai wood |
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It's 'Bo King hood rhymes, up to no good |
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It's 'Bo King hood rhymes, up to no good {*echoes*} |
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[Chorus 2: all] |
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You can ill +In Here+, we can build +In Here+ |
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We can spit gifts, kick real skills +In Here+ |
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You can drink +In Here+, who you think's +In Here+? |
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God body with the shottis, when you blink, we're here |
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[Killah Priest] |
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Yo, poverty stricken, robbery, guns be clickin' |
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Forever burnin' in the furnace of afflication |
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Overdose and drug addictions, thugs who judged by the system |
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Will suck the blood of the victims |
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Sacreligious, savage trapped in prison |
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Adapt the wisdom, they sit back and listen |
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To the old-timers, the beast out the clothes liners |
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Bullets claim the lives of miners, and 9-to-5ers |
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The nine'll find ya, in the line of fire |
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Skies turn black, I could see your soul, touch a ghost |
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Drag you through the holes, spit out blue fire |
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My heart turns cold, never stay true to liars |
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Imprint marks in your robe, I see black smoke |
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Dark clouds, I talk to ghosts |
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I spaz out when my spirit recharge like a volt |
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Electric eyes open up, ya could see the ebony skies {*echoes*} |
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[Guru a/k/a Bald Head Slick] |
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From hot corners to hotter chicks, hoopties to hotter whips |
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Spit hollow-tip shit like Black Fist at the Olympics |
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For heartless cowards, time to meet your darkest hour |
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Allah reps power, one of these fours'll give you lead showers |
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Faint whispers of hoes schemin' to dis-robe your clothes |
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Catch you for your platinum, if not, for your white gold |
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It's all about the code that we were taught to behold |
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Although the world may be rugged, fuck it, we're thuggin' to soul |
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Whether it's straight rapin' a hoe to straight makin' the dough |
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It ain't worth it if you can interpret, yo |
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Understandin', calls for the best plannin' |
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Son just copped the best cannons, so y'all best throw ya hand in |
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Standin' on the mountain top like Martin Luther |
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Rap tutor, no doubt, tap you the fuck out like Zab Judah |
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The promised land, here, ain't nuttin' promised, man |
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Just know how to tell a thief from an honest man |
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[Black Jesus] |
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For the love of the link I spit in your face |
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Gimme some space, the Lord assure to be on your tape |
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See we kill for pleasure, you war veter's and I hate your guts |
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In any weather we can get it on and fuck you up |
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Livin' it up, you got big guns, enough jewels |
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Had ass before the cash, y'all niggas playin' the fool |
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Breakin' the rules, I put you where the sun don't shine |
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Buried alive, my nines make a walnut rhyme |
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Feelin' me, son? We all about revealin' the gun |
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Acknowledge the God and know this ain't no one-on-one |
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It's us on y'all, you posin' wit ya back on the wall |
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Ready to fall, no mercy when we cut off your balls |
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Can you picture bein' food for the worms, gaspin' for air? |
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You learned the hard way, not to come unprepared |
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See we sacrifice the weak, don't speak unless you spoken to |
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Evaluate your life, dog, cuz your blood'll merk you |
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[Chorus 2] |
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[Hook: Timbo King (all)] |
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+In Here+, +In Here+, +In Here+ (Where? Where? Where?) |
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+In Here+, +In Here+, +In Here+ (Where? Where? Where?) |
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+In Here+, +In Here+, +In Here+ (Where? Where? Where?) |
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Yo, all my niggas up +In Here+ |
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[Chorus 1] |
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[Hook] |
