deepundergroundpoetry.com

This is Killadelphia

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 ass
Man, I am ass 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 also known as Killadelphia
So go home, breeze and call it a night, without no fear.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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