Crooked I - DJ Green Lantern "D.O.A." Freestyle Part 2 lyrics

[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz] My name's bizzing -- I mean, buzzing; y'all get the drift I will finish n***as' careers with three fingertips Three fingertips -- thumb, index, and middle joint Ones that support the pen that's finna begin the renaissance It's safe to say I'm a one-man restaurant The chef, the waiter, the guest that's getting his menu on I cook it, I serve it, I eat it, understand? If it don't taste good, how can I feed it to my fans? These n***as is cheating, feeding you from a can Without a seasoned beat, they weak -- the meat'll be bland The reason I am who I am cause my work ethic Is similar to Helen Keller's, you could tell by my verse methods First I hear a track, try to see where I'm going Then once I see where I'm going, that's when I listen back And when I feel it's intact, I give the engineer dap Walk in that booth and lay that one take crack If rap was jail, you'd be the one they'd smack On the Island like, "You whilin', this is a one-way jack" And you don't rock on slot, I had the block on lock You'll be arguing all loud so the f**ing cops could stop it before it pop But stop it, if this gon' happen to will Shouldn't have hopped in the car if you couldn't handle the wheel I went crazy with this gift, baby I could get lazy, go to sleep and get where I got to get safely Mr. Ortiz may be the best thing that happens to hip-hop Since out in the park in the mid '80s Every time I pick a mic, all the lights dim Ladies that ain't know me leave my show like, "I like him" Fellas that ain't know me leave my show like, "That kid is tough" They'da said I'm great, but it's hard to relate to different stuff I can't blame em though, they hear what they hear daily I come once a blue moon, I'm what they hear rarely A lot of my peers fear me Change ain't easy to adapt to, actually I honestly think I scare family So: Dear Granny, ain't nothin wrong with your grandson Look at me all grown, intelligent and handsome But it's a must I hold this music sh** for ransom They owe me everything I'm demanding and some Been on my grind since early '99 Or was it late '98? f** it, either way it's my time People say I define the true meaning of 'My goodness' I like that, that means nothing I write's bullsh** Not that I'd ever second guess my pen Just need to hear that sometimes to remind me that I am him The Hulk Hogan of flowing, the prayers and the vitamins 24 inch pythons that'll damage your iron chin No I'm not brolic, but the powers that lie within My pen and paper enable me to change the environment My pain'll make the rain, triumph'll make the sun shine Tornados when I'm angry, hurricanes when it's crunch time Blizzards when n***as thinking they hot And the hail that symbolizes the impact of our album when it drops And when this all stops, and you could feel a slight breeze That means I'm at ease -- you could sneak in your DVDs And your lil' mixtapes, and your promos for the DJs But until then, everything's slow-mo like a replay This my first relay race, I'm the decathlon dapper don I will lap you in a marathon I'm a walking j**el -- 24 karat arms A platinum heart, and a diamond mind full of marijuan And my kidneys probably house the most precious stones That's my fault -- that liquor was never left alone So til I rest on the throne, the game's in a time machine The dial is set to Rome's ancient Terror Dome I'm Maximus of this rapping sh**, the mic is my sword I take on an army of soldiers, horses and carriages And when they're laying there too injured to move Give me the thumbs down and I swear I'll finish these dudes How can I have mercy when first of all they ain't that worthy Of positions they hold and I'll roast em -- gimme that jersey! I'mma guarantee a championship It's going down like a Methadone and Ambien mix If rap was product on the street, you probably barely a six Smoke my sh**, you'd probably sell me ya family and sh** Like, "Yo, here's my sister, I'll pick her up on the first Mattafact, take my niece too -- I just need another verse! You got the best sh** I've had in a little minute Matta'fact, take my Grandmoms, her cook game's exquisite" I'm just joking but artists should get their wrists broken For selling that garbage and tellin the fans, "sh**'s smoking" I know you're sick hoping I quit, but I never will And even when y'all break out, I be the Benadryl Just make sure that your return is short Make sure fans ain't infected with your allergic thoughts, n***a My word is born, and my pride is a motherf**er House on the hill is what I promised my mother, f**ers And she gon' get that [Verse 2: Crooked I] Crooked I's cold blooded like I got a Rick James degree I'm so thuggish, switch lanes with me I'm so thuggish, hoes love it, flip change, live dangerously Homie, you lames spit game for free Yeah, I'm right this man writes his rhymes like his life's in a crisis I'm twice as sick as Ms. Anne Rice is I stand right up, holding the mic lifeless You might like my concise preciseness - it's like this Cats came in this rap game and Claimin' they gat aimin and crack slayin Them n***as is actors like Matt Damon Homie, my gat will slay men, you cat's say when then - bloawww I roll up on ya block, then I blast Cops fiending to ask, "Who shot you?" while you rock an oxygen mask I hit the flack and then spazz to the spot with the Glock Locked in the stash spot, got the Glock in the dash My six cruise on big shoes, I'm a lit fuse With sick views I got issues I misuse Pistols, say we in combat I spazz out like a crazy Vietnam cat It's young Crooked, yeah you had a leg then my pump took it Now you hip-hop cuz you one-footed I lick shots, drop become bullets I leave scenes sicker than Hitchco*k, news won't even run footage I comes hooded just like a Grim Reaper Slim keep a nine double m heater I creep in the streets, deep in the seats of a Jeep Beatin' new releases through ten speakers, it gets deeper I'm bringin' that Long Beach feeling back! Catch me on the east side where all of my k**ers at But my enemies don't wear a Raiders, Saints or Steelers hats They wear a badge, n***a -- how real is that? No matter what, ghetto life is still in my veins If you poverty living, I know you feeling my pain I'm still sick in the brain, sk**s spit with such meticulous game Shoot ridiculous like Nicholas van Exel Guess who's s**in' your stepdaughters? A n***a who could draw Glocks better than sketch artists Now when I walk in the club, hug ya ho Hustlas know, I'm Nutso with the thugster flow Everything is open, nothing is closed Magazines throwing Slaughter on the cover to pose Look at Young Poppy - co*ky, never sold one copy Guns co*ked, Rocky, please come stop me! So and so is cool, what's-his-name is ehh Homeboy is ok, Slaughterhouse is crack That's my word, that's what's heard Act absurd, you cats get served, I rap disturbed I'm closin' doors with the quickness I'm pokin' hoes in the Poconos, hopin you don't poke ya nose in my business Haters, scopin those from the friskers Relentless foes get a broken nose for persistence Absolutely, n***as bringin gats to shoot me Even watchin you f**in wacks actin goofy Disguised as groupies, that's a doozy What's that bulge under my shirt? That's an uzi, excuse me I'm just here on Sirius to spray targets Don't make me leave a n***a dead on Green's gray carpet You n***as ain't f**in with me are they, Lantern? A n***a so high I think that I could see Saturn Listen to the funky a** speech pattern After I finish rapping, ask yourself, "Does the beat matter?" It don't matter, n***as'll all shatter I'll spray your f**in mind data all over your sweater Oh- what?