Crooked I - Crook N Porter lyrics

Dominick Senior let me tell you what the man's about I don't dress weird and talk funny to stand out You pushin quarters, petty hustlers get ran out Put that quarter back in your pocket unless he Dan Fouts True vision, I ride around on a food mission Don't get in the way of nutrition, my dude listen The tool's hidden, yeah I keep that wig splitter under my gat like a beautician with a tooth missing Green pieces of paper, weed trees from Jamaica 16 Bars, 16 keys and a scraper These are the things that a street G see when he major Tell the chef at Pappadeaux preseason my gator I kick a flow off the loud, then I flow off the dome just to throw off the crowd A n***a in his 30's ain't no Mohawks allowed Catch a ho off my smile A gorilla lookin' n***a eating a banana in my Range Rover Them snowbunnies smelling pheromones from a lane over Ain't no I in team, but it's two "i's" in Wii And when we go Black Ops n***a, game over k** em all until nothing is left homie I do this while I'm chillin' with the cousin of d**h Think I'm from Wu-Tang how I'm f**in' with Meth My crew slang, keep that under your breath, we move things Moving top speed to the top we, you can not be serious n***a that you can stop me I don't do what's popular, I overlook you like a good view does the city through some new binoculars You gettin' money you can mob with us, I'm flashy like a shootout between 2 photographers Still they call the security when Crook strolled in I'm really just a deep thinker dressed in wolf's clothing I got a pulse but my wrist looks frozen f** with me and d**h's door is gettin' pushed open Funny how a hater want to stop a n***a's shine Make me wanna grab the Glock, co*k it, and pop it in his mind Instead I'mma pour a shot, top it with some lime I'm sippin' on vodka strong as Chewbaca in his prime Thinkin' God forgive, He's kind, so opposite of mine So I'mma hit the grind til I'm the topic of the time See I'm confident that competition's hoppin' into line to fall victim to apocalyptic rhymes So poppin' sh** is fine, not to my face, say it to my back Cuz I'm ahead of you whack n***as, blame it on a fact When your paper get jammed up, blame it on a fax While I'm in Saks snatchin' everything hangin' on the racks I used to reach out 'til my arm would get tired I ain't reachin' out no more, that offer expired Matter of fact, this entire song is coffin inspired Draw then I fire, you fell off, you lost the desire Caught Alzheimers, forgot the lost art of the raw rhymer G-shot, n***as all kinda small timers This tune is an open wound to a salt miner C.O.B we A Few Good Men like Rob Reiner That's why them hoes be on us when we with Mr. Porter Told you we gettin' head or tail quick as you flip a quarter Think of the best rappers alive from 5 to number 1 If I ain't on the bottom then n***a switch the order Stop the presses, hip-hop ain't dead but it's rockin' dresses You got the message, from the Apex Predator