Crooked I - Thank God For That White lyrics

[Intro] Hip Hop Weekly Damn man, I know it's late Just got off the plane from NYC man Some lunatic tried to blow up an army recruiting center next to my hotel in Times Square Damn, I got to make it to fifty-two Watch them bombs b**h Hip Hop Weekly Yeah, we back baby On this Primo track, what up Primo? Got a chance to chop it with my dude real quick At the Bun B party in New York Bun, what's poppin'? Yeah, C.O.B., squalor [Verse 1] I won't stop 'til I'm the best breathing in the west region Asthmatic chest weezing, that's what I'm sicker than Pistol jammed, kept squeezing cause I don't give a damn Blow you into next season, I'm the trigger man Click four-fours, hit a big score or A Lincoln, what the f** I want a '64 for? When I could buy a sick four door six And if I need to fit more who*es add six more doors You in the mental corridors of a psycho Heavy stress, my mind needs psychological lypo Still I rock videos with ice on I'ma move numbers soon as I touch the screen like a iPhone Pick your battle, love it when n***as babble A boss n***a draw quicker than kids' scribble scrabble Eat concrete, nibble gravel n***as travel up sh** creek and I'ma let you pick a paddle Same horse, different saddle, got my nines loaded Shoot you in every one of your pressure points blindfolded Then make diamonds you rhinestoned it Think you won't die over fake fugaze, don't bet your life on it My childhood was the harshest of severity Sent me through a catharsis, a moment of clarity And through the darkness opponents wanted to bury me Soon as they start sh** my chrome is unloading merrily What do I think of the industry? Think it's a f*g fest Rappers wearing they boxers backwards for easy access How you think he got on, he ain't that fresh Soon as the rapper die, bury him in a black dress No style better than the one I'm choosing Why switch when I'm k**ing with the gun I'm using Why give a f** about your one-eyed views when If you used two you'd never see this young guy losing And I don't give a f** where you hang at, bang at Slang crack if you can't rap, n***a you straight wack Why I gotta act like we got the same sk** level cause you got a plaque When this is not a fact If you think I'm talking to you, n***a holla back So the barrel of my .380 can holler "braapp" I'm a problem like U.S. health care In the blue SL hollering "New West, hell yeah" I do it two XL in j**els I knew welfare Too well so staying too fresh felt fair n***a please I'ma talk reckless Fifty Gs if you talk necklace b**hes squeeze on a boss guest list Pitching weed all across Texas Enemies, this is ya'll's d**h wish, yes Boss n***a, carats in the earrings So big I literally can hear bling And the sound so loud it's ear piercing Chrome ringer in the waist, I don't fear a thing C.O.B. until my soul touch the sky I don't think you could f** with I [Outro] Hustlers, yeah Hip Hop Weekly my n***as Fresh from New Yitty Back on my coast, Dodger blue city Long Beach, Eastside, Crooked I Rest in peace to JMJ, yeah Thank God for that green We left the white alone