Shawn Thomas (born January 14, 1972), better known by his stage name C-Bo, is an American rapper. From Sacramento, California, he is currently signed to West Coast Mafia Records. He was one of the first rappers to be jailed due to his lyrical content.
He was born in Waco, TX but raised in the Gardens area around Florin Rd and 29th St, a known Crip gang area that's known locally as the 29th St. Garden Blocc Crips, a gang from Southern Sacramento, California. He mentions the gang numerous times in his music. He has sold over 3.5 million albums independently since 1993. He is currently signed to West Coast Mafia Records.
C-BO, notoriously known for his relationship with law enforcement, was one of the first rappers to be jailed due to his lyrical content, a scathing critique of political officials and police on his track "Deadly Game", and unsuccessfully argued for appeal 3 times, while gaining nationwide attention for arguably his most successful mainstream album. He was arrested in California in 1998, under the suspicion that his violent rap lyrics violated his parole. He then in Ohio, rapped his court statement to the presiding judge, who gave C-Bo probation on the condition that he also rap in a Public Service Announcement.
Ballin in a 600SL
drop top with the fat V12
Money hella-long, smoke blunts not a bong
Niggas can't fuck cos I crunch em like Kong
I be deadly as The Predator
My .50 calibre Desert Eagle'll spread ya, and behead ya
Pistol wieghs a tonne, bullets come like a guillotine
Poisonous tips hit and explode thru the war scene
Like morphine and heroin, I'm the shit
Every dope fiend needs a hit
Gangs need to stick at this gangsta shit
to take that monkey off their back and have em gettin licks
I'm the neighbourhood's drama, dead man's trauma like O-Dogg
and Kane, I'm loc to the brain, got the afro
padded, fully automatic decrease the statics
Two fingers spreaded, hittin em up and let em have it
Chorus:
Desperado outlaws thru the dirt
Sendin BG's blastin, puttin men to work
Trapped in America to die in these bloody streets
Goin head up, with suckers all psyched up in heat
*repeat*
Murder, murder, kill, kill
California's the state where most caps get peeled
back, catcha, pigs on a stretcher
Three strike law got us livin under pressure
Know he wanna take mine, hand on his waistline
Side of his spine I get to dumpin with the Tek 9
Got his back smokin, crack that ass open
Bullet holes the size of a token
Got his ass chokin on piss and blood
Crooked ass piggies don't get no love, uhh
Life or death, a .4-5 Smith & Wess
I had that nappy-headed ass stretched
If you try to dack me in my neighbourhood, I'm dumpin
And ya best ta run cos my BGz is comin
Clips full of teflons, loc'd out and crazy
and they won't stop til you're pushin up daisies, uhh
Chorus
Body snatcher, caught up in a rapture
Black heads explode ya flesh when they capture
You don't wanna see me in my beanie wit my locs on
Ol' school mouth wit no *?style?* gettin my smoke on
.4-5 stormin, rainin and pourin
Mobbin down floorin, psycho like Norman
Bates, no trace, no murder case
Innocent like OJ
House niggas get scoped by the revolution shooters
Fuck *?Glyn Craig?* then we gunnin down Cooper
Cos he wanna send all niggas to the pen
Thinkin that they fucked but Gz don't bend
Never been a snitch, *?Mark Keane?* can suck a dick
and fuck John Green, for bein prejudiced
Never liked rap, and did a nigga from a scrap
Yea me to the max, but I'm back, piggies