This Is Killadelphia

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


Living in Philadelphia USA, the gang capital of America.

Submitted: January 30, 2017

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Submitted: January 30, 2017

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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.


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