Royce Da 5'9" - Brooklyn 7 Minute Freestyle (Acapella) @The Well Public House lyrics

(Royce Da 5'9") "Brooklyn, if ya'll wanna hear Crooked I do an Acapella let me here yah say DO THAT sh*t, DO THAT sh*t, DO IT x2 (Crooked I) "Yo Brooklyn, My name Crooked I from the East Side of Long Beach, California.. I'm happy to be here right now.. and everybody in my f**in' crew's about that like my G" My gun'll load I live by another code My desire -- run the globe While you thinking you was born to be the sh** Because you fell out of your mother's other hole Hell motherf**ing no You don't think Crooked I's hot? Tell me why not? Is it cause my Maybach's in your blind spot? I sleep with one eye open like a insomnia-stricken Cyclops Cause I could rest in a pine box I'm on; so many drinks, can't even count 'em So high I fall up the stairs 'stead of down 'em So high, call that American Airlines Brooklyn, I f** It up e'ery time! I tell a rapper, you not a legend like John Move back, like his embarra**ing hairline N' let the heir to this terror shine Throughout ugliness, them Slaughters there with me It's all Lovie Smith, my team bear with me Still like I'm feeling like a organ donor So many n***as dying to get a part of me Like I was born with a rare kidney But come and get me I'll leave you down under somewhere in Sydney Different type of chopper, still airlifting!! See, my mama named me Dominick That's anonymous with ominous I'm in this game to show you what drama is I'm in this game to conquer it Like Genghis Khan and his monstrous entourage What challenger can dodge my barrage? Look at the duPont Registry, that's my garage Convertible Beamer, paint blacker than Amistad Hear the engine noise I'm ballin' with different toys Still I rap like Kool G. when he was rippin' "Poison" My pen game is sick, call it Pen-is-illin or Penicilin Sky's the limit, That's why I ain't have to k** the ceilin' You guys are gimmicks, hide your women Crooked's into Virginia, drilling the realest women Feel a villain, I fill em with big pimping Even the virgin Cut off my leg, I throw a shoe on my third one Look how easy the words come I'm the West Coast savior That's why they say "Church" when my verse done Speaking of church, I'm from the city where sinners dwell Said it's the L-B-C, we came to give 'em hell It's judgement day, and I'm judging these infidels Sipping Zinfandel, my liquor be off the Richter scale Its 2012, we about all bars, We the Chuck Taylor crew We All Stars. You add Eminem, and the hits are the hardest We turn DJ's to MMA fighters when they mix Marshall artists I'm from the West Coast, we ain't In with the garbage You ain't f**ing with that Dodger hat, unless your name Mr. Marcus I lift your carca** And If you listen to this ill spit in your whip The flow'll get you carsick This Long Beach every day, y'all I say free my homie Tray Dee, I say R.I.P. Nate Dogg (Joell Ortiz) "He said Rest in Peace Nate Dogg by the way ya'll!!" I'm just a Slaughter rider I'm Waiting for you in the same basement That Biggie Smalls had your daughter tied up I'm waiting on this snitch's car to drive up He come inside and die I hop in his whip, n' turn The Carter Five up! (Royce Da 5'9) "Hey Crook!.. I don't think theres a Carter V" (Crooked I) "I don't know my bad I mean The Carter IV" I paint any town red, that's the art of war I bust you in any city; Cuz' I'm on a tour I tax you; I'm not an auditor either or But I'm at you -- it ain't no better mobsters We a mix between Tyra Banks and energy drinks Four-headed monster!, Hold on Out on them streets I put my life on the line Between them sheets I put my life In them lines Crooked's c recitin' these rhymes, givin' sight to the blind I'n the dark my recital will shine light in your mind Like God cypher the fine, Ima fight for my kind n***as surviving the grind, with a sniper designed Rifle aligned, rifle your mind i targeted a man I was thuggin before I became a marketing plan Cover my heart with my hand and i vow to keep real Can not part to Japan, Target the hearts of the fans Like the archer is part of my plan Man, my loved ones who restin' in peace "Yo, my homie Pac Guage? died yesterday, I'm dedicatin' My performance to him.. nah mean. Pac Guage I love you, ya kept it 100 with me your whole life My love ones restin' in peace!" They couldn't peek at the peak I was destined to reach Through expressing a speech I'm the essence of each O.G. before me They gave me lessons to teach I'm Pablo, you can't measure the reach Cop-ho, f** gestapo, arrest the police d**h to the beast A renegade menace, n***as witness the birth Every listener's a prisoner, till I finish the verse Every minute I'm spittin, you sittin' in a ministers church These n***as is b**hes, I'm militant, I'm liftin' ya skirt Society hate me, f** em', all hope is lost To piss 'em off, I do what you call "over-floss" That's the reason my Benz got all chrome exhaust They hate a Welfare kid who's a cigar-smokin' boss I'm crazy! Put me on a therapist couch I've seen stomach shots leave a n***a wearin' a pouch I've seen people's parents parish for careless amounts So what's the starin' and the swearin' about? This unfair character 'll stick his derringer Square in ya arrogant mouth I'm darin' ya, you apparently doubt That I will merrily bury you, without care when the sheriffs is out And go that devout terrorist route You box, I shoot Glocks, we just don't compare in a bout A boss baller, Airin em out, shot caller Crooked I, you know I'm wearing Cartier in a drought We Broadcasted live from ghetto America's house Where the police get a paid vacation for kickin' n***as a** Now my homie see the cop and let the trigger blast There's so much pain in a n***a's past But I'm bout to eat til I'm sick of cash Me and my Nillaz finna mash for real, til we open them doors And Welcome to Our House Is In your stoors, go get it! (Joell Ortiz) "Make some motha f**in' noise for that n***a Crooked I man.. That n***as a mother f**in' machine man." (Royce Da 5'9) "f** you Crooked I! I'm tired of him being better then everybody"