| Out one night, yo, just chillin’out with my crew
 | 
| We were actin’wild
 | 
| 'cause I didn’t have nothin’else better to do.
 | 
| Got a nine at my waist
 | 
| stay out my fuckin’face.
 | 
| You fuck with me right here’ll be your resting place.
 | 
| Some ol’sucka, yo, he tried to put a move on me
 | 
| I shot him in the face,
 | 
| murder, in the first degree.
 | 
| Now I’m sweatin', regrettin',
 | 
| that’s not for me they got me locked in the fuckin’penitentiary.
 | 
| Bowels of the devil,
 | 
| let me tell you what the muthafucka eats,
 | 
| its stomach’s filled with lost souls
 | 
| guts made out of steel and concrete.
 | 
| Bowels of the devil,
 | 
| listen close, 'cause I’ve been there before
 | 
| and you don’t wanna die there,
 | 
| they call it goin’out the back door,
 | 
| the back door, the back door, the back door.
 | 
| Walked in the club all the ho’s gave me the sex look
 | 
| they like a nigga like me 'cause I’m a known crook,
 | 
| and my posse’s down, we don’t mess around,
 | 
| you fuck with us,
 | 
| you’ll be six feet underground.
 | 
| That night they got me locked in a row called death
 | 
| the governor, that muthafucka wants my last breath.
 | 
| That’s right, homeboy wanted to pull a switch on me up here in this fuckin’penitentiary.
 | 
| Bowels of the devil,
 | 
| let me tell you what the sucka eats,
 | 
| its stomach’s filled with my homeboys
 | 
| guts made out of steel and concrete.
 | 
| Bowels of the devil,
 | 
| listen close, 'cause I’ve been there before
 | 
| and you don’t wanna die there,
 | 
| they call it goin’out the back door,
 | 
| the back door, the back door, the back door. | 
| Yeah!
 | 
| Bowels of the devil,
 | 
| let me tell you what the muthafucka eats,
 | 
| its stomach’s filled with my homeboys
 | 
| guts made out of steel and concrete.
 | 
| Bowels of the devil,
 | 
| listen close, 'cause I’ve been there before
 | 
| and you don’t wanna die there,
 | 
| they call it goin’out the back door,
 | 
| the bowels of the devil,
 | 
| let me tell you what that sucka eats,
 | 
| its stomach’s filled with lost souls
 | 
| guts made out of steel and concrete.
 | 
| Bowels of the devil,
 | 
| listen close, 'cause I’ve been there before
 | 
| and you don’t wanna die there,
 | 
| they call it goin’out the back door,
 | 
| the back door, the back door, the back door. |