Crooked I - Paradise (Freestyle) lyrics

[Verse 1: Crooked I] So many rappers claim that they the best breathing I wonder how many of 'em really believe it Show of hands, I got my arm raised in the booth Y'all only good for raising the roof I spit for those raised in a roof The Anne Frank's, my spit's changing the youth Still switch lanes in a coupé Rocking six chains while I get brains Dick grazing the tooth Nickname me the truth or Rick James b**h I put you in Christian Dior, hello Or teach you about Christians and Moors, Othello You ain't never been f**ed till you was f**ed by a rebel Welcome to the motherf**ing ghetto Yeah, welcome to the dark side Where rich and poor is the main form of apartheid They drew a line, tell us to stay on our side When we cross over then they look at us cross eyed Where any sane man'll break in half Cut off your water, can't even take a bath Gotta hit your neighbours and ask the broad to wash up your naked a** Recycle it to make it last ain't it sad in the ghetto We living in a third world country Babies starving well before they can spell hungry Gang banging sons, crack fiend daughters Where the f** is Maxine Walters I know she care about the ghetto We rocking hand me down everything Used to have a father but your papi's now Eddie King Shooting up in every vein, heavy man Should've pulled out when he made you with your momma But instead he said he came Left you starving, so poor it's appalling New Orleans sausage and crawfish is calling your name I grew up where the soft'll get lost in Hard n***as die, arms crossed in the coffin, the ghetto Now let's get back to some ill sh** Back on my rapper sh** cause you don't like that real sh** That real talk, that's the sh** that y'all be skipping through If you're some sort of rapper, naw homie, I ain't dissing you Only six lyricists in this industry I listen to Three of 'em is in my crew I rather talk about the ghetto Where they saying Hi To The Bad Guy f** a drive-by, a walk-by, this' a stand-by I stand by ya, gat fire, then I watch the man cry Any motherf**er that I'm anti can die This rap game is getting soft on me Everybody is a baller it's all phony Saw Tony Montana now you a boss homie? Saw Corleone now your chrome'll let off on me Y'all only fooling your fans Photo shoot, got a tool in your hands 99% of your music is for losers to dance I tell a dude in advance When I got a Ruger I shoot at ya Confusing the toilet stool for your pants Kidnap ya and make some stupid demands Like go get us some Cognac XO but do it in France n***a I'm from the ghetto They caught me slipping and they stomped me out 30 minutes later I'm shooting your aunty house O.G.'s on my iPhone to calm me down Embalming fluid dipping cigarettes in Bobby Brown Waterboy Gee say Bobby Boucher I'm on your head like that boss but under your toupee Infra red beams equal the black rose bouquet Every gun got lasers, shout out to Lupe You n***as thought that I was gone, dead, forgot about Till I popped up at the 50 Fest with Slaughterhouse Till the Red Bull MC Battle when Shady brought us out Now when I yell Ssuutt Ssuutt the crowd gotta shout C.O.B #OKBYE