This is Killadelphia

Words from the street and life in the ghetto.

Do you want all those dudes hangin' in front of ya momma's crib?
Keep yo' churrin off the streets and away from where the big boys fib

I'm the king of hardcore and deserve a whole lot of respect
My girls got a badonkadonk butt, it's so ballerific, it's what I expect

I told her to stay the hell away from my precious new hooptie
She tried to give me the third, but I just waved the no finger and popped her booty

Pimpin' aren't easy man, it's just that I've got that pimp juice, all the girls be wanting
Art lovin' Landis, was the best damn scratcher & foolin' all the museum high pillows
The women from the hood, come work for me, b'coz they're all the ghettos widows
The jury couldn't charge him, but the so called art experts keep up their taunting
Some have so much ice on their hands, I could do a figure eight on my skates
If he would only paint his own, he would truly be one of this centuries greats

They told me if I don't pay, they're gonna pop a cap in my a*s
Man, I am a*s out this month. I ain't got no kinda funds, I be on the nut, like glass
These streets are crazy out here, it's just the way, it's the nature of the street
While the popos and bulls are dancin' like great white sharks

Barbering to us and cuttin' us no slack, be real with me son, damn narcs
But we don't like to look like a punk in front of our boys, that'll be defeat

Their killing cats for real, all over the hood, where they don't belong
Damn your pimp juice, your game is too strong
He's the drug lord out here, the big boss dog

The rest of his crew are little more than corner boys
We are the ultimate big tymers, me and my son, cruisin' in da fog
My boo be real and we be ballin-outta control with our toys

The cars windows were so dark, I could've got shot by a gun
All the backstreet junkies now payin' for the big guns on the run

We just heard Boom Boom Boom, we know not to bother
Is he a relative? Yeah man, it's her dead brother

We don't see anything, it's the hoods mentality
Everybody's a curb side lawyer, but when we go to court, we lose that ability

Man, that chickenhead was booey, I want my 50 bucks back
Chickenheads will always be on the prowl for some easy berry stack

A thug is a way of life, made bad choices, now tryin' to survive
This is Philadelphia, where we won't & don't shake hands to the jive


Last year we were known as Killadelphia
So go home, breeze and call it a night, without no fear.