Crooked I - BET Cypher 2013 lyrics

[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz] I been here before and I don't mean the last cypher I'm a pen and pad sniper When y'all make it rain, you make your lil' stash lighter When I make it rain, you driving on tough terrain in a lemon with bad wipers I hear all the noise like mad bikers Hip-hop making a big stink like if Shaq had diapers Buncha half a** liars, with mad hyper reactions to the backpack writers But the pack's back, tigers Be a hyena that laughs at lions Let you body something then I snatch that try em And a left hook will send your lil' snapback flyin' Put you birds in the dirt like I sacked Matt Ryan I never tried to be cool, it's just finesse But as a man there's a few of your moves I must address Not tryna judge but, ooh I must confess Never thought I'd see hip-hop dudes under a dress But back to me, I'm smooth, one of the best Better than you, two letters from "U" up on the chest But no red cape, just redbones in red bottoms High ready to shred weights in a Redman's red tape They see how the God rolling Gold seven and the car dash crack like Lamar Odom You hear the bars that my squad holdin' BET thank us again for another hard moment, YAOWA [Verse 2: Crooked I] Now my father might try to call me after seein' the show I only answer my smartphone for people I know, dummy Probably a janitor, father like son The cypher is full of crumbs, I'm just sweepin' the floor Hol' up, Pac, Big, and them, Nas, Eminem, I'm your synonym War sentiment, tore ignorant rappers with poor penmanship Unloading my clip in full increments Leaving you on your condominium floor twisted with torn ligaments Born eminent, the boy k**er for more Benjamins More dividends, warn women and warn children and Tell 'em this Californian born citizen is getting rid of them illegitimate rappers Cause they more feminine than women that bore children And they more feminine than George Zimmerman Shout out BET for all the airplay My old job is bricks under the stairway See I ain't one of them rappers rapping about they trapping They really ain't trapping, I'm put work in the streets I'm murking the beats err'day My conversation is on but I wanna walk in every BET cypher and murder every rapper spitting Call it hip-hop population control Hashtag FOH, they wanna crucify Crooked I Why, cause I'm bossy, but I'm so street look both ways before you cross me k** 'em all is what I came to do Black entertainment smacking you White entertainers too Housegang, anybody can get it I got bands for anybody who with it I'm the best note theoretical quotient In alphabetical order, I slaughter every rapper And since I'm strictly West Coast I dump his head in the ocean Pacific Ocean, the specific ocean, I'm sipping potion Listening to you rap, you ain't saying nothin' You talking bread stuntin', you talking red bu*tons I'm pushing a red bu*ton and all my weapons going Karrine Steffans That mean they head hunting Homie you garbage, you probably learned to rap at ICDC college [Verse 3: Royce Da 5'9"] Slaughterhouse, state of emergency Bars for days; Mardi Gras, Bourbon Street Silencin' this 9 so no noise flash out Shout out to Big Sean and Doughboyz Cashout Shoutout to Yeezus, 99 I been rapin' his pocket From doing me I stayed in the pocket Now all I'm trying to do is give Halle Berry a baby today Then I'm outtie tomorrow, after that maybe Drake can adopt it You missed me with your "Who the hottest" list Only demand that I got is I ain't sharin' no spots I light your baby mama house on fire while she in it And turn around and tell her now it's apparent she hot The McLaren is dropped I was riding shotgun with Em before anyone compared him to Pac They don't call us the return of the house for nuttin' We taking real estate back Seal a fate faster than a gas-masked asthmatic with his face wrapped in a plastic pillow case in a safe, trapped k**er stay strapped, in your place Leave a rapper with the Leno face, flat I went away and came back like smack on the interstate My mental state is winner take all You 'bout to fall tryna see the winter break Wish I could take all of that Gucci out of my closet And that vest that Joey wore on show on that dinner date Shoot it 'til it disintergrates You think I fell off, then you either out of your mind Or inside of your mind Lookin' out of your blinds, countin' my truths While I'm out at your Momma house sippin' the fountain of youth, I'm nice [Verse 4: Joe Budden] I ain't with the chit-chat Punch me, I'll show up where you live at Pitch black, both of y'all can relax when it kick back Tryna run like that'll give you the right of way I'm quick on my feet I can moonwalk sideways God like flow, Jesus rapping; Housegang, G's is rapping He's just yapping, all that beef and scrapping like Miley Cyrus t**n' Something supposed to be shaking, I just never see it happen Gotta ugly chick that'll try to get cute Not a dime but she's shooting and her Vines never loop But she'd s** the whole group if she'd ride for the night And turn Slaughterhouse into City High for a night Forget where the Ruger put, your crew is shook Ahead of my time, get you hit now from a Future hook If lyrics matter we will spare the matter But none of that is important cause what you wear is a factor And it's getting me upset, riddle me for a sec Literally unimpressed with who y'all pick to be the best So if I'm chosin' where to aim it'll be his head Just to k** whoever's nice, now chivalry is dead It's either you or me, since you love hip-hop I'll have Wale say spoken word at your eulogy Joey, Team Shady, Slaughter dudes When you talk about the best rappers it's rhetorical