Survival 1st lyrics

Artist  : C-bo 
Song : Survival 1st



 Send "Survival 1st" Ringtone to your Cell 

 [Featuring Lunasice, Marvaless]
(chorus)
California's the state, where punk niggas die.
First thought be survival every mornin' when I
rise.
So many murders and homicides in front of my
eyes.
It's just some ballin'-ass niggas down to die for
the West Side.
California's the state, where all bustas die.
First thought be survival every mornin' when I
rise.
So many murders and homicides in front of my
eyes.
It's just some ballin'-ass niggas down to die for
the West Side.
Verse 1:
(C-Bo)
It could be the napalm, droppin' non stop bombs,
Armed like vietnam, dominatin' like King Kong.
Lyrical madness, step up, take up, and start
blastin'.
Wicked as Stephen King when my mental and vocal
clashes.
Syrran wrap, like a boa constrictor, wrappin' ya.
Up from your feet to your neck, nigga, attackin'
ya.
These 4-5 hollow tips will have you backin' up.
I only do my dirt at night like dracula.
Verse 2:
(Lunasice)
I'm wanted by the feds, these niggas, they want
me dead,
Cuz I done spread through their territory like
the HIV.
Sun down spots, suckas swallow glocks.
If they know by these rocks I'm pushin' for the
blocks.
Every corner you past, that show will run him up
in his ass.
Gettin' the cash, while Mr. Bad puts down the
smash.
I dumps quick, my clique be so thick,
With hi-tech mob shit, crooked as Soviet.
(chorus)
Verse 3:
(C-Bo)
The house on the water, independent shippin'
quarters,
Movin' tapes like K across every border.
Takin' over your brain, causin' addiction like
'caine,
More deadly than a grand shot of Heroine in the
vein.
Inflict pain, on any nigga that step in my range.
Retalliate with hollow tips, blast, and splatter
your brain.
So remain calm, this sh*t is C-4 bomb,
Set trip off your motherf**kin' city like 'Nam.
 
Best recognize, step up and check eyes.
Ain't to many busta-ass niggas from the West
Side.
I do or die for mine, livin' life like I'm blind.
Solo on a flame line, dumpin' hollow tip 9's.
Verse 4:
(Marvaless)
Survival first, ask questions later.
Movin' patterns on your bit*h-ass cuz I heard
that you was a hater. Oh
who
can save ya?
Defeated your purpose, now you caught up in some
deep shit.
Who got the deepest murder clique, that's some
would sick.
This game is way past wicked. Still I commence to
kick it.
West side niggas stackin' meal tickets.
Surpassin' weak bit*hes, evadin' snitches, and
sayin' bomb.
Killafornia style when we ride droppin' bombs.
Verse 5:
(C-Bo)
Palay Palay, Tommy Hilfiger cold, can I?
Polo, Jabo, Guess, Khakis and Levis.
Ballers is what they call us, too much for the
ATL.
Lexus, Benz, Beemer, Vet, VIP, 112.
Might catch me at the Platinum, sippin' on some
Hen, rolex down,
Ride ST 400 Lex through the town.
Clown, and you'll catch a hot metal tab up to the
chest.
Don't make me kill a nigga out east and head West
Side.
Till I die, reason why, I stay high,
To maintain my composure and attitude when I
ride.
Don' push me, I'm too close to the edge
Might take one to the head.
(chorus X2)
Verse 6:
(C-Bo)
It's the season of the sickness, marks on my
shitlist.
Comin' up out the psychadelic bui'ness, don't sit
in it.
When I gets to bustin', I let loose like a
Mac-10.
I'm born and raised a hustler, got love for my
family, f**k friends.
Never been disgusted, but I just like love it,
Wit my streetsweeper, put hoes in your bucket.
Man, I just say f**k it, I can't live with
society.
Now, how many niggas in yo clique wanna ride on
me?
(chorus to end)