[Intro: Crooked I]
{Twitter Shout-outs}
[Verse 1: Crooked I]
Only thing I got is the hottest flow and some bubble gum
Just ran out of bubble gum, man I'm number one
Everybody wanna be hood, they so f**ing dumb
Tell me why they running to everything I'm running from
What the f** you live in a bubble boy, its troublesome
See them white sheets on the street, you could be under one
Coroner calling your mother, down goes another son
And the world keeps spinning, just like it's nothing huh
Ever had them gunshots hit ya, man it don't feel good
Ever had that switchblade stick ya, man it don't feel good
I got a little bit richer, but see I'm still hood
And I'm giving back to the kids, just like the trill should
Quit trying to be somebody else, I know for a fact
n***as need to learn to love themselves a little more than that
If music is an influence, then where's Lauryn at
The young fans can win, if she the quarterback
Crooked you done shot at dudes, you a hypocrite
My n***a they shot at me first, that's why I did the sh**
That was long ago, I'm on a different tip
To no longer look over my shoulder, it's magnificent
My homie said I'm going soft, looking at me slanted
I'm looking at him like he think I'm on his planet
I'm in another world, homie you don't understand it
God granted my wish, can't take my wish for granted
All I wanted to do, was give my music to my people
Instead of taking pounds out of town, living illegal
But I'll do it again if I had to, I can't lie
My mother's the wrong one to make cry
When her bills overdue, sh**, I'm her main guy
But I'm like a nerd hollering at bad b**hes man, I aim high
So I expect more out of myself
Than anybody else, than anybody else
That's why the hottest metaphors pour outta myself
More than anybody else, more than anybody else
Shouts out to Uncle Russ man, cuz he embodied wealth
Mind bodied health, that's why I'm probably stealth
Hip-hop moguls, they were my inspiration
When I was homeless and sleeping at the bus station
Hungry as a hostage, imagine my frustration
I earned this here right to speak to my young nation
The youth better wise-up and rise-up
Everything must evolve, even a gangster, Eastsider
Heather grey leather in the Benz when we ride up
Drinking like my n***as in the D and we fried up
Record labels didn't expect me to go the distance
To last this long independent with no a**istance
They said he'd either run out of gas or blow his pistons
And I ain't even mad, I'm a symbol of coexistence
We could still do business baby, cut the check though
And everybody who supported, I got much respect fo'
Man ain't a damn thing changed, just the dress code
I don't take L's, only W's, I'm from the West Coast
Now go and tell your favorite artist, I'm back
And if he tries real hard, he can almost be whack
All I got is the hottest flow and some bubble gum
Just ran out of bubble gum, man I'm number one