Crooked I - Who I Am lyrics

[Intro] House gang, house gang (x2) You know how we ride In that SL playing SLV (On the house, get 'em) Talk that talk to 'em [Verse 1: Crooked I] Guess who back turning the track into mince meat For diabetics with diarrhea thinking sh**'s sweet A thug MC Even though I'm all about money, I found time to throw it away with Swizz Beatz House gang, hardest fools 'round Don Juans up, garden tools down Black Rolls Royce riding up that coast n***as left me for dead, I came back in that ghost The resurrection Can't spell s** without the letter X, so this is a letter to every ex I'm s**ing I get the best oral, no question Pectoral sh**, we out shear flexing Yeah, that's the slaughterhouse team Looking down on ballas as if were as tall as Yao Ming Fly is what we are without wings Like scientists studying the environment, we're all about green [Hook: SLV] I f** any girl I want Valet keep my car in front They told me I wouldn't go far From a nobody to a star Is that what you take of me? You do it mistakenly I'm still here, amazingly Every day I thank God for making me who I am [Verse 2: Joe Budden] These raps from a smoker's lung Climb the ladder to success skip the broken rungs See em now, (you)'d never guess he was your token bum Mailbox full of subpoenas, I might open one Guess the cops didn't learn that these warrants don't faze him Living my mind, how can bars ever cage them Give me a break, I'm a "Law Abiding Citizen" I'mma k** a cellmate if enough is at stake Some say that I'm mean Nah, they got it f**ed up. I just say what I mean It was never bout money, I was chasing a dream Now I'm proof that rage can beat the machine I take being the sickest way over being the richest If you focused on me, I ain't doing half bad Right hand in the air, Joe, I solemnly swear The joke is on me, but I got the last laugh [Hook] [Verse 3: Joell Ortiz] My real name my rap sh** No bed-frame just a mattress Trying to light the stove looking for a book of matches Listening to Hov instrumentals getting practice flicking dro ashes In a zip lock from an old package n***as better be lucky that I'm so pa**ive I'mma blow past it like a coke habit You afraid of me, the Euphrates river flow ma**ive I sit a Raider fitted over Bo Jackson's Jeans horseshoe under the horse polo relaxing With a horse shotgun in the Porsche letting the horses brag You'll be going horse trying to call a cab I'm everywhere with the New Yorker swag Got me at cancer and Ma**achusetts, I'll be throwing in the Boston crab Here's a toast to the street When you eat you food down to "bone" appétit so don't turn your cheek My real name my rap sh** The messiah of real rap sh** Nod your head, make a face like you sitting on the toilet and it's real hard to crap sh** Yeah I make that sh** For the gang clappers on a sober night Who open soda to the right you know Switch your cap backwards I wrote a track with a TEC in my jeans Jansport So who the f** said I don't do this for the backpackers One hit of my piff and you cough I got pot, top notch at minimum cost Do me a favor: take your little nicks and get lost The only time you get a P is when I'm pissing you off My name ringing the borough Everybody'll tell you the same thing, I'm thorough And I can still chill in the field where they k** cause I'm real Never ran, never will [Hook]