Developing Story

[Intro]
Ayo, turn that TV down
Here is fifty thousand dollars, let's do this
I want him dead, nah mean? Don't even worry about it
You going to take him out? Yeah

[Verse 1: Killah Priest]
Amongst the heat busting
Weed functions, street discussions
A fleet's coming! Niggas keep hustling
One rushing, his head blooded, his eyes all wild
The night sky had a devil-like smile
Rain, lightning stabbing at the earth
Which takes us down to an area where murderers lurk
And burglars search through bottomless pockets
All alone apartments, a place well known, controlled by crime and convicts
A place we all familiar with, it's called the projects
Now take a look at the scene, that's in progress
A black Chevy slowly brewed around the block
Holding four killers with loaded up Glocks, they scoping the spots
Their eyes were gouging the city housing, for areas least allowed in
More less, least the crowded
From the distance heard police sirens, quickly faked the silence
The night's air became every thug's greatest challenge
Each assassin wore the face of violence
They found the spot, then they docked
Each killer leather missed they mark, they quietly submarined around the park like a shark
Bestowed through the dark
Four hooded shadows, high against the crack wars in war apparel
These outlaws travel
Eight silent, creaped upon the back of the lobby door
When on the other side lays all kinds of war
Nines and razors, guns galore, ones with lasers
Cooking strangers, look at danger
Gangsters and gamblers, Hustlers are servicing customers
Murderers and grandmothers, smugglers and grams and others
Blocks away, the noisy street murmured
They took out their burners, perfect time
Their mood was fact, murder
They spot two, they crack workers
Playing games of chance, they quickly advanced
They stalked cat-like. Ass tight amongst the crack pipes and scattered dice
The lobby domino with stairs, a vague trace of weed fumes hung in the air
Each heart played a game of truth or dare
Eyes surveyed the place, for a familiar face, and traps
Each clutching they gat, cause everybody strapped
They spotted the hit, eyes were fixed, let the other three knows this was it
A smile twitched, ghost-like, at the corners of his mouth, before he shot the dude name out. The kid slid out
He crouched as he squeezed the trigger
In a sudden all types of death, and bleeding niggas
Bullets hissing, like locked snakes
Hands suddenly stopped on the clock of faith, his body rocked away
Horrific sight, reporters said the grizzy murders, happened last night
Eleven shot, now pronounced dead, bottom beds
From pounds and bread, to rounds of led
Now the soul's dragged down by hounds pulling the sled
The sun brought forth, the power on the streets, the newspaper read...