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...