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Crooked I]
{shout-outs}
1: Crooked I]
Let me take you to theâ¦hood, nigga
Where we all under stress
Thugs die a bloody death
Thatâs nothing on the West
Got a package from my enemies, inside it was a vest
The note attached to it said âWe ainât aiminâ at ya chestâ
In the⦠hood, nigga
Show you what danger is about
Cameras filming every angle of my house
Gotta send gang-bangers with my spouse
Niggas aiminâ at her blouse
Trying to change her into an angel in the clouds
Pow-pow in the⦠hood, nigga
Fuck with me I go gorilla
Talk to âem Kobe Killer
(I guess I keep talkinâ to Myself)
The whole circle gotta eat, watch us set the table
âCause these record labels
They ainât never stable
My connect in Diego
Hit me with 100 pounds, I donât mess with ya-yo
Gotta respect my game though
Polygraph Crooked spittinâ in the booth
Other rappers spittinâ them writtens, Iâm givinâ you the truth
Iâm a⦠hood nigga, only hear to stack millions
Even though I come from the home of the crack children
See Iâm a genius, Iâm crazy as Katt Williams
Busy as a beaver âcause Iâm in the dam building.
This is the portrait of a poor kid
Going from moving weight like a forklift to corporate
Fertilize our mindstate, might make you forfeit
Thinkinâ that the grass is greener, but itâs only horseshit
Hood nigga!
Late at night, thatâs me in the mirror
Saying âCrooked they donât hear yaâ
(I guess I keep talkinâ to myself) Yeah
Damn, I hate to sound like a broken record
But for 52 weeks in a row I broke a record
Check it, raping the game is my code of ethics
Kids better watch their ass like the pope is naked
Fuck it, Iâm going the distance, persistence
C.O.B.: We the resistance, for instance
Letâs make a toast to ourselves for the way we conquered poverty
By moving this marijuana properly
Trying to acquire private property, not Monopoly
Ainât no get outta jail free if them coppers stoppinâ me
They got orders from the top to lick a shot
And leave a niggaâ body rottinâ if I stop pickinâ cotton
As if punchinâ a clock is an option to a drop-out nigga
Livinâ in a market that they not givinâ jobs in
Us ghetto niggas we been begginâ for some help
I guess we talkinâ to ourselves, huh?
(I guess I keep talkinâ to myself)
And Iâm too enterprising to take orders
From a caveman who expect me to slave for eight quarters
In a quarter to eight, I bang corners
Doing tricks in whips like skateboarders
Iâm a motherfuckin'... hood nigga
I remember times was hella hard
Gun and a ski-mask played the role of a debit card
â86: from the mall I was forever barred
For boosting them Avirex leathers, God
I never sparred, every day was a fist fight
An Outlaw like E.D.I., livinâ the Thug Life like Big Syke
Sometimes I think I shouldnât carry a ratchet
For burying enemies when we couldnât bury the hatchet
Puttinâ snitches in the cemetery is tragic
But we all about loyalty, like Cookie Johnson staying married to Magic!
I wear this pinkie ring for a reason
It ainât to market an image or hit certain targets with gimmicks
C.O.B. across my arm, itâs authentic
Realest army invented
Call me a general, and all my lieutenants salute!
OkBye!
- Album:
- Fight Night