[Intro - Crooked I, Gla**es Malone]
Hip Hop Weekly
Your boy Crooked I
New West in the motherf**in' building
Uh oh, aw sh** hahaha
New West Pres hahaha
G motherf**in' Malone n***a
(What up Malone?)
What's this like, this is week forty-three right?
It's forty-three?
How many times do the n***a got to do this sh**
For you n***as to realize this n***a's the best motherf**er ever
Crooked, hahahahaha
This n***a Crooked I stupid with this Takeover sh**
It's the West Coast n***a
We chopping n***as' thumbs off
And tying n***as' ring and middle finger together n***a
That's West Coast n***a
This everybody loves head on the mic n***a
I told ya'll motherf**ers I'll be back
I'm 5'9" with size thirteen n***a
Tell your baby mamas I'll be home by 12:30
Holla at your moms
Week forty-three
Technique the block, start a rebel
Crooked, what it do man
California Crooked I n***a, week forty-three
It's ya little homeboy, Tony C-Style the boss
[?] checkin' in
Well off we're still a family
Plus we C.O.B. n***a
[Verse 1: Crooked I]
Lordy lordy me, could this be forty-three
Want to record more than me
Go and snort a quarter key
Try to stay up more than three days
You can't afford to sleep
Or to eat or retreat when you're going to war with beats
I'm a beast, just swallowed my leash
Rather fall to my knees before I call the police
I do it all in the streets, not pausing the beef
Lickin' shots with the heat to knock you off of your feet
Retreat, n***as try to k** me but I had too much heart for 'em
This is for my hip hop heads to keep they heart warm
I'm a slave to the art form spitting poison in dart form
Just tell the universe a star's born
Yeah, I'm in the building fierce
Writing sh** to control you like I'm William Pierce
I got sk**s for years
This is time capsule flow
In the year two million let a gazillion ears
Hear the way that I k**ed it
And to my brilliant Brazilian peers
Much love cause you still in here
And a young thug is motivated by those before me
I ain't say all ya'll n***as, hold your horsies
Cause a lot of you n***as trying to hold the door see
Have me on some f** the world like global orgies
Poor me, am I seeking your pity?
Hell naw, Long Beach got the key to the city
Circle of Bosses motherf**er, we the committee
Drinking Henny and squeezing semis plus we deeper than any
Easy, you're not ferocious, let's rock
I'll be Axl from Glocks N' Roses, head shots
Gotta to get rid of you co*k-a-roaches, stress not
Never let the block block my focus and ya know since
My life is s**, money and carrying chrome
They want to put me in the cell like I'm Marion Jones
But I'm America's own character to be compared to Capone
They find crime somewhere in my songs
I tell 'em think for theyself or die when it goes down
I say think for yourself or go out like Jonestown
I'ma keep it real no matter how I come across
Like eighty-nine on the New York Giants, I'm a boss
And I see you on your video dressing like a silly hoe
Really though now the whole city know
That you soft as erectile dysfunction
And my mind state is like fresh out the dungeon
That's why when critics have debates over who's the best out
You left out discussion, check how you plungin'
n***a so gay I bet he could fart a gerbil
And I'm sharper verbal soon as you spark the purple
I sound best when you listen in the dark with herbals
C.O.B. is cold, call us the Arctic Circle
Always wonder what would happen if I did me
Dude I could start a dynasty like M-I-N-G
A hybrid, a gangsta slash hip hop MC
Cause first I'm KRS-One then I'm Pimp C
A MC cause I could spit a rhyme and enflame mics
A gangsta cause I could hide a nine in plain sight
It's different angles in these parallel lines I'm writing
So I'm starting to see geometry and rhyming in the same light
One foot in the booth, another in the streets
My game's tight but when I go left I ain't right
And when I hold techs my aim's nice
I spit my whole life burning them corners my n***a you can blame rice
[Outro]
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