Artist: C-Bo f/ Ampichino Album: The Mobfather 2 Song: Killa Confession Typed by: Lil Hustle [C-Bo] 12 gauge sawed off, hit you like Ricky In a fo' do' Caprice fo' deep, blowing that sticky Get in my path, and get rolled on Even your bitch get stole on, then we take your bitch ass to stroll on Menace to society, cocaine provide me Bullets in my gun, to protect this money by the ton I'm America's nightmare, with birds in the kitchen And my killers is right here, and they perving and tripping Catch em swerving and dipping, and riders with a grip on the weapon Enemies catch you slipping, pull the heat out and wet em It ain't no passes, in this war zone And it ain't no paper getting made, lose your life trying to get paid when the war's on Body bags and toe tags, it's closed caskets In the river with duct tape, rolled in plastic The murder that we writ, is just another lesson But this time you're a witness, to a killer's confession [Chorus - 2x] Chopper full of hollow points, on a mission for bread We empty the ammunition, till the competition is dead This is my killer's confession Be a witness to my profession, as I ride with aggression [Ampichino] G'eah, I slide with a weapon Towards wet fuck, nigga died in the intersection This a killer confession Cause if I ever get caught, my niggaz killing and that was killer's respected Dealers beheaded, hanging on phone poles naked Reckless, you can go at any second Niggaz get murdered before breakfast Ain't no half stepping, in danger we blast weapons I'm famous for cash getting, don't have feelings for bitches My past dealers relentless, these are killer intentions The penitentiary packed, with niggaz that ain't coming back At the age 13, I start dealing crack Back to back in Lacs, still dealing packs I interact with niggaz, living in the trap From the Sac' to the Ac', get blaa with the mac Me and Bo in a Regal, getting to the scratch [Chorus - 2x] [C-Bo] Cali to Arizona, Denver to Oklahoma Dallas to Kansas City, cause there for you in a coma Got killers off in Ohio, Minnesota and Atlanta Detroit to Florida, come get you with them bananas You a dead man walking, sweep em under the rug Body dropped to the pavement, the homies done pulled the plug It ain't no love, for you queer niggaz Pillow talking to feds like a bitch, it's nothing but slugs for you here nigga No phone call, send a fax with your face on it Your mother's address, with a picture of the place on it Reaper on the prowl now He in that rental with the chopper triggers filed down, oh yeah you dead now Pray to your Lord, and repent for the mistakes you made Hoping your life is heaven sent, before you take the blade Know that this murder that he writ, is just another lesson But this time you a witness, to a killer's confession...