Developing Story - Killah Priest

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

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…