* author's note: this is the song that got C-Bo locked up for parole violation    You know I never was no choir boy  Ya folks got a, gang of priors  Maybe that's why the one-time's be triflin  Tryin to give a young nigga thirty-five to life  When I ain't even done nothin wrong, off-icer  I have no in-fo to offer-ya  He asked my name, so I came off the brain  Told him, "I'm John Doe and this is my hoe Jane"  He said, "Smart mouth nigga, don't make me do ya"  Put my thumbprint in his high tech computer  My name came back with a warrant, felo-nies  Now they got me down-town, spread my anus  Buttock, I'm like, "What the FUCK is it now?"  He said, "You robbed a liquor store; we know where, when and how"  It's foul, they got a nigga to' up from the, flo' up  My mom, in the courtroom lookin like she bout to throw up  It's a strong armed robbery, strapped in the commision  at my pre-trial conference, D.A. had a proposition  He said if I lose at trial I'd get the ? with the L on top  but take the deal he'd give me five with havin most of the charges dropped  Hopped on the deal quicker than blast, and said  "I admit that, but two and a half ain't bad I got getback"  They sentenced me to five, two I gotta bring  It's only strike one swing, batta batta swing    Chorus:    It's one-eight-seven on the D.A., cause they  ain't tryin to give a young motherfucker no leeway  Yes yes... y'all  One-eight-seven on the whole courtroom, motherfuck em all  You better swing, batta batta swing  Cause once you get your third felony, your fifty years you gotta bring  It's a deadly game of baseball  So when they try to pull you over  1 - shoot em in the face y'all  2 - shoot em in his face y'all  3 - take em on a chase y'all    Fresh out the pen, unrehabili-tated  Doin hella good, and my P.O. hates it  Hates Dick, she's a dyke lesbian bitch  Can't wait to violate for me for some petty ass shit  I gotta get a job, so I'm fillin out applications  Fightin the temptation, to slang nightshift, uhh  Minimum wage don't get it, five bucks a hour  don't cut it, man I ain't widdit  So fuck it, I went and struck it rich, on the dope sack  My homie gave me two, and told me to bring a fo' back  Now it's time for me to start havin thangs  I flips me a Coupe and painted it candy-apple green  It gleams, clear coat sprayed on thickly  Fools out to get me cause my shit is lookin sticky  I'm at the club and I can feel them suckers scopin  I'm knowin they plottin on me, but I'm still hopin  that they won't fry me, unless they wanna die  They will be, drippin more blood, than Mrs. Simpson was  Sho' nuff, ain't no bluff, here them suckers come  Got me reachin up under the panel to handle the forty-four caliber gun, uhh  Spun his ass around with one of the fat Magnum rounds  Got him on the ground makin funny sounds, ohh  I got a problem, witnesses ten  Positive identifa-cation    Chorus    On swoll in the pen, cellmates with X-Raided  Now I'm on parole, five years later  The Bo loc is ready to have me a ball  Fuck my P.O., I'm goin AWOL  And you all can suck this dick, I'm sick  and tired of goin through all this bitch-made shit  I got two strikes right now as we speak, and peep  I'm not bout to let you motherfuckers do, me  I'm petty with a prior, will buy your fate  With Wilson in the office, you gets no date  So I'm putting all my belongings on Greyhound bus #22  Bound to another state, me and my crew  Unpacked my shit, stacked my grip  California and Pete Wilson can suck my dick!  And if you didn't already know, that you couldn't  trust his ass, just look how he did Polly Klass  Used her death, and her family's name  so he can yank more votes, and political fame  It's a shame, that I'm the one they say is a monster  Juvenile delinquent, steppin out of sync with  but FUCK THAT, I ain't goin out, like a punk  That ain't my style, rip him from his asscrack  to hit nutsacks now, they wanna kill a nigga  like me I blast one blast two that's strike three    Chorus