Crooked I - Sun Doobie lyrics

You get more for your money, when you f** with Mr. Porter-r-r-r-r..." [Joell Ortiz] As long as I got my pen I don't need a friend We got ears that we each'll lend each other, my brother just hollered at me again He said he tired of all the lyin, deceivin and Dick-ridin the people providin on every beat but when I do it it's stupid, I bruise it like a bad b**h I lose it, my music's a movement and they just mad stiff I told 'em it's mathematical in this pad lift Point 'em out and I will subtract him, with an ad lib See the fact is (what) I'm a ba*tard How can I not be Macho, Man? I'm a Savage In the past I was pa**ive, now I'm mad b**h I'm spazzin, you get an Adidas cla**ic where yo' a** is [Royce Da 5'9"] Eh-eh, eh-eh, Nickel ain't the one at all Snatch your vocal chords out then plug 'em in my wall You a knife at a gun fight, our sh** is raw You a square, you're silverware in a civil war The Slaughterhouse wolf pack, riders under the moon The reason you itchin wit'cha lighter under your spoon I'm a lover, the lead bustin is old to me You put your head in her bu*t, I headbu*t the ovaries God dipped me in war paint for all weathers I'm Mr. spill the liquor on my alcohol tether No need to ride with nobody, I feel the heat can help me Your jean's skinnier than Em is when he eatin healthy, hahaha [Hook] WHOA, WHOA, WHOA WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, Shaaady! WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, WHOA {"Mr. Porter-r-r-r-r..."} [Joe Budden] Outnumbered, outspoken, outcasted Outweighed outrageous odds and outlasted Outlandish, so I learned to outwit 'em I outsmart 'em, outgrew 'em, I outdid 'em Cream, out-bid 'em, team can't out-spit him (You could) Keep sleepin, your wet dream is out with him (See) Do a lil' yoga, a lil' kama sutra Steakhouse n***a, used to be a Ramen Noodler Heavy on B and E's, was a calm intruder Pumped a Ruger, moms called me con and loser I suggest you and your mans'll regroup (why?) Bet against it, and probably can't recoup - out! [Crooked I] I point a pistol at your mamma mia I'm sick as Tyson in the ring at the Colosseum with gonorrhea f** a rapper, my clapper black as Bahamadia f** you R&B b**hes, shut up! You not Aaliyah (Ha ha!) When Mr. Porter record a piano Producers may wanna order some ammo I'm a California corner reporter Your boy wasn't born with a quarter, bein poor was a horror And now my aura is sorta Soprano; look here We reinvent the wheel to have a good year - and y'all tired We like Tyler Perry mixed with Everlast The House of Payne/Pain, Slaughterhouse gang n***a! [Hook]