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  Crooked I - Str8 Bosses
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:40 AM - Forum: Lyrics - Replies (3)

Artist: Crooked I
Song: Str8 Bosses
Produced by: Jim Gittum
Appears on: Celly Cel - Gumbo Pot



Intro:

About time huh? Yeah..
I've been waiting for so long man
Just to show the whole world how the westcoast really rocks, ya know!
It's so much more than what you see on ya T.V. screen man
Me and my team (me and my team), we here to bring you something brand new (yeah!)

Verse 1:

You could see me in a Mercedes CLS, YES!,smashin the pedal
hop out,rocking them red monkey,strap with a metal (heyyy..)
beatiful chick a purse, match the staletos, like hood chiropractor, crooked back in the ghetto (heyyy...)
who you know reppin the west like me, if you not wearing a gun, you aint dressed like me
i come from the home of the fresh white Tee, bullet proof porsche doors, like im the next Ice T
i gotta stunt mama, i love to floss lady, im numba one shawty, cuz im a boss (babyyy...)
lotta of you suckas i could stop you for good, like the battery in my bimmer boy, you not in the hood
im right there, in a mosserotti,speakers playing Lodi Dodi, i be throwing up Eastside, when i see the paperazi
the neck is Mr. T, but the watch is rocky, why you think them boppas watch me,huh?
we straight bosses!

Chorus:

We straight bosses, we live it up
drinkin on that Hennesy when we in the club
if you a boss like me, throw some money up
chicks know we superhood, so they show us love
uh oh uh oh!

Verse 2:
All the hustlas and gangstas, rock rock on, all them playas and them d-boys, rock rock on
got a glock on, make ya block too hot to clock on, rollin a blue drop, looking for new twat to hop on
who hot?,you not, dude stop ya spot gone, niggaz on my block, only play tupac and my songs (my songs)
that cuz you need that genicade twaa, kiss yo ass goodbye, let me hear you say blaahh (haha)
harder they fall, the bigger they are,me and my click young and rich, hit the strip in 8 cars
first we saying'"heyyy", then we yellin' "hoo", like "hey" you got some"hoes", homie lets gooo..
im coo coo nuts, for boo coo puffs, runnin choo choo trains, on them foo foo sluts, you do whut
i'll shoot you up, that Tec to to, and shoot through trucks, i nuke you fucks, you do sumptin'
we straight bosses!

Chorus:

We straight bosses, we live it up
drinkin on that Hennesy when we in the club
if you a boss like me, throw some money up
chicks know we superhood, so they show us love
uh oh uh oh!


Verse 3:

I say hot chicks,sex those, cop whips neck froze, block shit less coast,boss clicks, already
we in the club there was this frost bit, fresh clothes clock chips, lets go, pullin up in all chevys
let me tell you how the don dotta work, you haters poppin alot of drama i gotta merk (uhh)
i brought a proper choppa, shots got us work, doctors gotta button you up like a Sean Carter shirt (hear me!)
chrome spokes on that old school cadillac,ghetto cat, matter a fact, where them trappers at?
where them jackas at?, every rapper pack a gat, last nigga with flat brap brap that was that
you got gangstas and hustals, but im a boss though, that means im gangsta,plus i hustle also
gotta get that bread before we all go, C.O.B is the click, yall know!

Chorus:

We straight bosses, we live it up
drinkin on that Hennesy when we in the club
if you a boss like me, throw some money up
chicks know we superhood, so they show us love
uh oh uh oh!

Outro:

Yeah. Throw some money up, C.O.B circle of bosses!yeah!
we came from nothing homeboy, from the projects to paychecks, ya know?
and we still here, yeah!, we straight bosses, the eastside returns,ya know?
Longbeach gone......

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  Crooked I - We Fly High
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:37 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I
Song: We Fly High

Intro:

Dynasty C.O.B.
Yeah, Horse Shoe Gang, On One Squad hahaha
I don’t care how old this shit is
This shit’s still bangin’
Yeah, you did that my nigga
Got Koch lookin’, aw, quite nice I might add, haha, yeah
I’m in the black label shit nigga, what
I got the Feregamo? joints bangin’ on ‘em
Bullet proof vest and Cuban cigar, C.O.B.
It’s LBC nigga, Eastside

Verse 1:

Yeah, Whoever call they selves spittin
Is now gettin’ shitted on
Which nigga can get it on with the sickest nigga known
This is the shit I’m on
I sit alone and dim the lit rooms
Writin’ 5 minute songs in the zone
Then I’m... gone,
Where you at?
I’m everywhere nigga,
The VIBE Awards, BET: yeah I’m there nigga
The All Star, Super Bowl: yeah I’m there nigga
W’s in the air, bangin’ on you square niggas
Right next to Jigga at the Russell Simmons party
Some niggas beefin’ with Jeezy
I didn’t spill my Baccardi
I don’t care about the ruckus
Tryin’ to tell S-Dot, yes?
Come and deal with some young mo’fuckas from the West
I do ‘Def Jam’ like Warren G did it
Give you the whole marketing plan in less than three minutes
A street menace, spectacular acuman,
Imagine Donald Passman Junior with the G-Business
Russell say I’m just a hit away
I’m burned out, hit Miami just to get away
I’m in the Trump Towers Sunny Isles Timbaland suite
I walk down dolo Collins Ave. grippin’ the heat
Look for chicks with the sickest physique
I digs the thickest of freaks
Ridiculously pimpin’ is me
Bumpin’ to my nigga Blue Devinci at the Puffy party
Got my table next to Cadillac Tah and Irv Gotti
Yeah Gotti, you was right
I’m the truth on the West
Like I passed the polygraph
In the booth I’m the best
Bastards wanna lolly gag
I’ma shoot through your flesh
Get a fag a body bag, give him two to the chest
Hoes want a autograph. I ain't even on TV
Sellin’ out shows, I ain't dropped no CD
Givin’ bitches the french business, you know that wee-wee
Now who push through LB first in a GT, ME
The one and only, the gun is on me
The younger homies are dumpin’ for me, you mothafuckas phony
I’m comin, ask Houston, Texas, if I’m a Hoodstar
Smellin’ like Papa dough strollin’ through the M-Bar
How a Free-Agent bring his hustle this far
Switch cars every six bars, the world is ours
C.O.B. we deep as can be, Creepin’ with heat,
Leave you in pieces for people to see
Keepin’ it G, eatin’ the beef
Please tell the police chief
His niece in the suite and she sleepin with ME
BOSSES
Yeah, I guess this about sums it
I’m on some shoot you in your face, Dick Chaney dumb shit
I’m on some slappin’ skinny Pimps for poppin’ punk shit
I’m on some never stop until my niggas run shit
One love bitch.. haha C.O.B., L.B.C.
Yeah westcoastdynasty.com nigga
Don’t worry bout nothin’ Francisco
Ey Stannard, Pittsey, Bullet
Leak, Novakane Chewee, we finna run this my niggas
Hakan & Killuminati ask ‘em what it do
Martinvest, Roger Ramrod, RKO, the Kuillotine
You better ask ‘em
Martin Luther King said “A lie can never live forever”
Malcolm X said “By any means necessary”
By any means necessary I will expose you lies, yeah
You better ask Paul Izzle, Big SuperSoaker and the Crook Show
You better ask Cvrle and Nismo, Sieruken
YaknowImean, The Outs1d3r, hahaha
You better go ask my niggas Tony and Peter
We not playin’ C.O.B. Circle of Bosses
And we comin’ and we listen to all interviews
And we hear everything, our ear is to the streets
You mention our name, it’s not over
L.B.C. East Side Up, Westcoast
Ride with your boy
Westcoastdynasty.com, Myspace/crookedi bitch
And I’m givin’ this one to my dude Marc Harmon in Iraq
Come home safe boy
**Beat Stops** BUSH, stop trippin’ nigga

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  anybody got crooked i - gangsta gumbo?
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:35 AM - Forum: Music - Replies (4)

does anybody got the song gangsta gumbo?

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  Crooked I - Gangsta Gumbo
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:33 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I
Song: Gangsta Gumbo
Produced by: Jim Gittum
Appears on:
Typed By: BIGG Pene

Intro:

What up,
Brainiac nigga,
off this Jim Gittum gangsta gumbo
Dynasty bitch,
the hardest nigga in the booth nigga
he go by the name of Crooked mutherfuckin’ I
and he’s so Treacherous

Verse 1:

so many niggas wanna come at the crooked
and let a couple of shots spin me around like im a feather weight
knowing that im heavy weight my smith n Wesson weapon will make you elevate n levitate
when I regulate, I hit the streets like I never ate, I click heat and I never wait
I wouldn’t hesitate to strap a time bomb to my self and hug you until it detonate,
you 6 feet im eleven eight
and if I told you once, I told you twice, I hold them guns
im so precise so run nigga run
when a soldier come, im cold as ice so hold you tongue
or roll the dice, get done when I come
im a poltergeist, sending em venom quick as cobra strike
kill em and kill em again
the shots throw ya life
you should have known the price
a killer that hold the knife till ya throat is sliced
and then im creeping by
dippin ina lac nigga the reason im
weaving a gat is to go
brat brat and your people die
nigga blink ya eye
I put you on your back quicker than that
somebody tell me whats sicker than that
you coward niggas need to get rid of that ridiculous act
when I give you the Mack it’s flipping ya back
like domino doors, you wont be flipping no different than that
then we acting reckless, snatch ya necklace
write cha death wish, eat cha ass for breakfast
when you bastards mess with the master that’ll blast ya ass with any
hand selector cause the man is ambidextrous
still keep a pump with me, for any punk motherfucker that wanna fuck wit me
still get slumped uncomfortably and touch the streets
so fuck police nigga I dump the heat

Bridge:

so what you got props in a magazine
you think ya better than me don’t cha nigga
I see you try to freestyle on the tv screen
you think ya better than me don’t cha nigga
I put holes in ya flow like it aint no thang
you think ya better than me don’t cha nigga
you better duck n run, you better tuck ya gun cause on the mic
im murderin niggas for fun, (murder niggas for fun)

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  Crooked I - My Life 2.0
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:32 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I
Song: My Life 2.0
Produced by: Komplex
Appears on: St. Valentines Day Bossacre



Intro

This is my life man
Somebody call Oliver Stone up
Tell him I got a story for sale
Looselly based on my life
Don't call Spike Lee thogh
He don't understand niggas like me
I Knew him talking down on gangsters
I din't choose this life, It chose me.


This is my life mayne
If I could change it, I woundn't
Cause I made me who I am

Listen...

Verse1:

Nineteen Seventy Something...
And Momma is in the studio pregnant with Dominic while she was doing a song
Untill her water broke in the booth, Is not a joke, is the truth
from that point, lets move it allong
To the fact that my father was a rolling stone
before we know it, Dude was gone
Momma gotta do it alone, who would of known
At the same time that she gave me life
She might have ruined her own (why)
Cause she already had a son before me
Living in the big city she young and lonelly
put her faith in a nigga but his love was fony
said he would hold her down while she sung her songs G
Then he bounce put the pedal to the metal
No more record deals we living in the getto
Gangbang Drive-by Homicide place
full of puppets killing each other
Uncle Sam is Geppetto
Five years old when I see my first murder
playing outside I heard shots from the Ruger
Four Five bullets put the victim in the bushes
Them I made Eye contact with the shooter
Ran in the house told my mom "somebody die"
I never forget, It was a white boy from Hoover
All she could say was "Halleluuya You're Safe"
The she asked God to protect my future
Life As A Shorty Shouldn't Be So Rough!

Chorus:

I got my hat low, White T on
Gun in my waist, I'm a gangsta mayne
Flat broke living in the hood,
gotta get money so I jumped in the game
So many people I know, get killed like it ain't no thang
To you it's crasy I know, Real niggas gon feel my pain

Hat low, white T on
Gun in my waist, I'm a gangsta mayne
Flat broke living in the hood,
Gotta get money so I jumped in the game
So many people I know, get killed like it ain't no thang
To you it's crasy I know, real niggas gon feel my pain


Verse2:

Nineteen Ninety something...
And Mamma's lil boy is growing up,
while the thugs niggas callin' him "Crooked"
It was a name the she never understood,
but in the hood nagative is positive so Dominic took it
Look at the way that he hang with them older niggas,
Man them OG's gave him a gangsta style
A gun in the waist, a knive in the pocket, a pair of brass knuckles,
some mace and even some straight razors, Now...
Those are the tools he used to survive
in the most dangerous plase you could raise a child
Momma can't afford nothing other than section8,
will scape one day Am gonna make her proud.
But now, I'm dropped out of school, sittin in drug spot,
bagging up weed while my older brother slung rocks
Trying to get paid, watching for them punk cops,
If they run a raid, them gonna be ducking these gun shoots
end of the raw shit do it like Scarface!
banging on the news helicopter in the car chase
this is the point where adrenaline make your heart raise,
fuck sleeping under the jail cause of a narc case
Wasn't the life I aim to choose,
a nigga could've been the next Langston Hughes
But I landed in a plase where you could get shot in the face
by a young banger trying to pay gangsta do's
How In Tha Fuck! could I change my views,
when I had to stabbed a nigga for trying to take my shoes
Never won much but I hate to loose,
only way that you could relate, is if you play The Blues
That was back when but even back then,
Mamma made men, out of the boys in the house
And I remember coming home, fresh from a shootout,
this is what she said with a joint in her mouth,
She told me "Life As A Shorty Shouldn't Be So Rough"


Chorus:

I got my hat low, White T on
Gun in my waist, I'm a gangsta mayne
Flat broke living in the hood,
gotta get money so I jumped in the game
So many people I know, get killed like it ain't no thang
To you it's crasy I know, Real niggas gon feel my pain

Hat low, white T on
Gun in my waist, I'm a gangsta mayne
Flat broke living in the hood,
Gotta get money so I jumped in the game
So many people I know, get killed like it ain't no thang
To you it's crasy I know, real niggas gon feel my pain


Outro:

Yeah
my life man
This is my life
I was manufacture in the hood man
read the label...

Read the label thy got stitched on the back of my neck (rebel music)
Its says "made in America... Getto America"

Ya Heard.



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  Crooked I - Finer Things
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:26 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I
Song: Finer Things
Produced by: Felli Fel
Appears on: St. Valentines Day Bossacre

Intro: (Crooked I)

C.O.B., Cirlce of Bosses, Cash over Bitches, Crip or Blood
Conductin' Organized Business, yeah
I'm in this mothafucka with the HorseShoe Gang youknowImean
We aint doin' nothin' but ah, keepin' it Bossy
But hold on

Verse 1: (Crooked I)

Yo
That's it, I'm burnin' niggas like acid
As if you can last with my classics
I'm that shit, rap spittin' Jurassic
Lit like a match stick when we match wiz
I'm that sick, light the booth like a camp fire
To amplify us, I'm a vampire
Give the track flat tires
Soon as I lift my voice like a black choir
Hard to read like a damn liar
Everytime I spit I lose control
Stickin' my dirt diggler in music's hole
Still artistic enough to paint a picture of music's soul
The best truth be told
Had to drop the mothafuckin' Bossacre
Rap's my bitch now, ya can get off of her
Before breakin' of laws occur
Draw infront of the officer
I'm in an awesome spurt
Ever seen a drive by shooter rockin' Gucci apparel
Iced out like a Nubian Pharaoh
I be the bow, you be the arrow
I'ma shoot you nigga
I'll be the trigger my crew be the barrel
Cuz, when I get pool we all gone pop
Then with seperate release dates, we all gone drop
Watchin' 106 & Park gettin' sick of your song
Then I realized I fucked every video hoe,
In every video known, every video shown
Really tho, makin' pretty hoes moan
Benzy on chrome
I dont know why I'm way flyer than you
You ridin' on 20's, I ride higher than you
22 inch wires, I might admire the view
A 9 and a dime, my cockpit require the tool
Till I retire I spit like I desire the flu
Be sicker than niggas
That's what I aspire to do
And I'm ridin' with so many gorillas you think I hired a Zoo
Fire your 22, I fire Bazookas, expire you, cuz
I'm tired of you, you not as fire as you - was
Give em a blindfold and a Marlboro
Brap, I'm takin' your spot tommorow bro
Lotta niggas fell of, I think we all know
Now should I give em a pass?
I'm like, naw hoe
They hear me man
They sayin' dude is mean
Not knowin' they listenin to the future king
Bling Bling King of spit, what do you mean
If you the King, why dont you do a thing
(For what?) For the Coast, in the hood you a ghost
Not even in the Club, scared to pose with your folks
On the video, niggas dogs and they locs
Bangin like they active, you niggas got jokes hahaha

Outro: (Crooked I)

You niggas got jokes man haha
It's the Bossacre nigga, Felli Fel
And the Don Nik Bean
C.O.B. bitch
Ya niggas got jokes

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  Crooked I - Boss Biter
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:24 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I
Song: Boss Biter
Produced by:
Appears on: St. Valentines Day Bossacre


Intro: (Crooked I)

St. Valentines Day Bossacre!
Boss, yea haha
Couple of haters out there
One in particular
He’s a real bitch, you heard me? Haha

Verse 1: (Crooked I)

That nigga’s a bitch, why fear homes
I’m Bossy, like the wife of Mr. Nasir Jones
My songs; all I wanna hear in my earphones
Cause when I turn the radio on, I hear clones (who?)
You bite my shit, you gets no love
Pac spread that Thug shit along with the Bone Thugz
I spread that Boss shit, you niggas want slugs
I been doin’ this since ’95, you niggas’ on drugs (what?)
Stormed from the Underground, took it to the mainstream
Everything I say, heard that nigga say the same thing
When I catch you slippin’ I’ma let my pretty thang ring
After take your pockets like them mothafuckas Gang-Green
I drop Young Boss, the West in charge
The XXL magazine gave me a Xtra Large
It’s a classic mixtape, that’s what some say
Wonder if they know I recorded this shit in one day
Ready for action, my pistol poppin’ off for gun play
Flyer than any contraption hoppin’ off the runway
Hotter than a sunray
Nigga with a Attitude, like I was a Young Dre
Crooked is the one, aye
You fuck around, let my gun spray
Married to my Smith & Wesson, that’s my Beyonce
Even Matthew knows a thug spray still
Turn your lights out, quicker than a unpaid bill
Throw them pipes out in the river like once they kill
Circle of Bosses, doin’ what the fuck they feel (C.O.B.)
Even if it mean a nigga gotta face a bid
Gun smokin’ more than any Emphazima patient did
When I’m beefin’, tell the preacher he should pray for kids
And tell Chief Pratton the streets ain't even save for pigs
Yeah, my lower self starts thinkin’ with his evil mind
Even though my higher self know I can help lead the blind
Two sides in me in one body, so we combine
Where both parts agree, it’s logical to keep a nine
And creep low like a Snake, the pistol’s the rattle
I Alaska you rappers who be livin’ a battle
6 months with no sun, mean you live in my shadow
Slaughtered for my third meal, nigga no different from cattle
Eastside Long Beach, I’m goin’ hard for my town
Sittin’ on top of my money, feet far from the ground
But my skill level got me on a march for the crown
Shit you pitchin’ is in the business the part from the mound
Now, choppin’ you niggas, naw, that ain't hard work
Why you think I got the chainsaw on the artwork
So I can slice your chest open and watch your heart squirt
I’m layin’ iron on these marks like a starred shirt
You mothafuckas ain't pushin’ the line right
You washed up, now you just a whore for the limelight  (yes)
I can close my eyes and see right through you with my mind sight
Kill them phonies when the time’s right
I’m Crooked I, the one your favorite rapper’s scared to mention
Cause I’m out of their dimension
I’m the air to the chair with henchmen
Intentions prepare for vengeance
Bitch niggas should wear hair extensions, yeah
This is my introduction to the US
You don’t know my name? just address me as the New West

Outro: (Crooked I)

Cash over Bitches, never Hoes over Dough
On the smash for my riches, got niggas to overthrow
There’s some haters on the Westcoast, some of ya are cancer
New West let’s go, Crooked is the answer

Yeah, youknowImean, Nik Bean, DJ Felli Fel, haha Crooked I, C.O.B.
Happy Valentines Day!  It’s the mothafuckin’ Bossacre, yeah
I mean, we cut niggas hearts out, haha, New West or nothin’

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  Crooked I - Real Boss Life
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:23 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I
Song: Real Boss Life
Produced by:
Appears on: St. Valentines Day Bossacre


Intro: (Crooked I)

C.O.B., yeah, it’s the Bosses Life, youknowImean
Boss is a mentality, a man is what he thinks
But a lot of y’all got it twisted out there
You think it’s all about, fuckin’ bitches, havin’ money, material objects
It’s a downside, too

Verse 1: (Crooked I)

Every rapper wanna rap about the upside of bein’ a Boss
You know how many wanna see me in a cross
Hate the ice blinging in the cross
Sittin’ in a mean Olive-Green Porsche with the premium exhaust
Wanna see me in a Lost & Found
Believe me I’ma floss, I’m bound
I grew up with nothin’
Desert Eagle and Nino Ross keep two of ‘em dumpin’
Lotta niggas say they are Boss, a few of ‘em frontin’
But the one I’m beefin’ with, he with the Warlord heirs
He put money on my head, I put more on his
It’s Lord of the Flies now, that mean war on kids
War on wives, want more than your own wig nigga
Go ahead, send your torpedo’s at me
My hollow-beetle guns fuck more people gladly
Sleepin’ with the .45 under my pillow
Had a dream, I caught the nigga slippin’, whippin’ down Willow
Woke up with a grin, why? When I pop you in my mind
Makin’ it become a reality is just fine
Lord knows I wish it was just rhymes (just rhymes)
But I know these stories ain't just mine (naw)
It’s like we gotta kill just to make it home breathin’
When you’re paper loan, people they be on treason
First we got along fine, later on squeezin’
Shots drum roll like we made ‘em on reasons
Let me tell you how the sexin’ begins (how?)
Your money gets power, pregnant with twins
Jealousy and Envy, it’s affectin’ your friends
Fuck whoever said life get’s better with ends
Yin and Yang, Grin and Pain, a wicked game
Sendin’ shame, this is fame, I entertain
But when it’s in the streets the pistol aim put windows in your brain, nigga

Outro: (Crooked I)

Yeah, the Bosses Life
That’s the real shit man
There’s two sides to every story, youknowImean
You niggas don’t know nothin’ about circling your house two or three times
Cause it might be niggas in your bushes
That’s when you got that bread man
Mothafuckas wanna talk about, it’s all good bein’ a Boss
That’s a god damn lie, youknowImean
We fuck hoes, we go on trips, we blow money, we ride whips
But we also load clips, cause they comin’
That’s the real Bosses Life nigga, for real
Lotta famous niggas don’t know that tho
Cause they got 24 hour security around their house
C.O.B. yeah   

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  Crooked I - The Boss
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:21 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I
Song: The Boss
Appears on: St. Valentines Day Bossacre


Intro: (Crooked I)

They say Boss
They say Crooked, if it’s Boss, you gotta ride on that shit (just lay back)
Niggas need to check my files man
I came in as a baby, ‘95 nigga, had breast milk on my breath haha

Verse 1: (Crooked I)

A lotta niggas never wore gold, till they went gold
Never rocked platinum, till they went platinum
Never got caught with a .45 Magnum
Until the cops pulled over they Tour Bus and bagged ‘em
Crooked been a Gangster, bang, bang lamas
Lotta niggas like to say it’ll eat you like Jeffrey Dahma
But I’ma say it’ll eat you like it was part of the Dona
Party, do your research then you can holla
You can ask my Momma, see what she gone tell ya
I was shootin’ pistols; she was bangin’ Mahalia – Jackson
Treat it like a class then I failure
If you fail the plan, you plan to fail, you a failure
Lotta MC’s like to say they flippin’ birds
Do you mean a middle finger or did you pigeon sur 
Wasn’t cookin’ in the kitchen, shit is just absurd
I’m servin’ different verbs and nouns, shit I’m flippin’ words
Drive by shooter, naw, I never kill cats
Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, can you feel that?
Heard about your house and your car, now where your skills at?
Real mothafuckin’ MC, Crooked is still that
Tired of you phony ass rappers pissin’ me off
I’m feelin’ like I’m Tiger Woods playin’ Miniature Golf
You ain't menaces, you sensitive niggas is soft
You niggas innocent, now witness a militant Boss
Lyrical God; they compare Jay Hova to me 
Poly Theism, you ain't gotta change over to me
We both gods even tho Jay’s older than me
See he was GS-300, Range Rover was me
Around the time that my dude dropped Reasonable Doubt
I filled the Truck up with weed as I was leavin’ the house
Headed toward any small City seein’ a drought
Had to show them different towns what Cali weed was about

Verse 2: (Crooked I)

I know you never wore gold, before you went gold
Never had platinum, before you went platinum
Before Tupac made Cali Love a anthem
I was gettin’ Cali Love fuckin’ hoes at random
In Harrisburg, Pennsylvania I was gettin’ add on
3-33 Calca yea, that’s where we had ‘em 
Livin’ on the Eastcoast, I was only 16
Big bro in the 6-4 with the imph beam
All of my Philly niggas, yea they had sick schemes
It’s only right that I put ‘em in my 16’s
Homie slangin’ to escape the hard livin’
Had a gift for sellin’ crack, can't say that it’s god given
Lotta clientele, think one of ‘em Todd Bridges
1st and 15th screamin’ Money, Cars, Bitches
All the G’s said, Young Crooked die snitches
Think about your money, yup, that’s Boss business
Everything they told me, me and the homies echo
This is dedicated to bad chicks on me webbos
The ones that want me follow the rant by Joey Greco from Cheaters
They scared to call, they know I let go a heaters
Shoot up the Camera crew
Hoes get in my way, they get the hammer too
Get it poppin’ like Shaft will do
Have a few scattered cadavers splatter the avenue
Haven’t you, heard that I spit on street beats
Since I was a lil nigga watch it spit on Beat Street
Don’t know skills, put my shit on repeat
Still don’t know put my shit on each week
I’m rhymin’ for respect
Still feelin’ like a Vegas dealer in the club, got diamonds on deck
Jokers get a blade, cut your heart with a spade
This is C.O.B., when? Till I D-I-E, oh

Outro: (Crooked I)

Never had gold, till you went gold
Never rocked platinum, till you went platinum
Fuck a freestyle my nigga, this is my anthem
Crooked been shinin’ like the rims on the Magnum hahaha

Yeah, Boss nigga, ya niggas better check them mothafuckin’ files
All you Hollywood ass suckers ha
C.O.B., Circle Of Bosses, Cash Over Bitches, Crip Or Blood
Controllin’ Our Block, Conductin’ Organized Business

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  Crooked I - Music Industry (Remix) (ft. Termanology, Royce Da 5'9, Akrobatic & C
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:18 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I
(feat. Termanology, Royce Da 5'9, Akrobatic & Consequence)
Song: The Music Industry (Remix)
Produced by:
Appears on: St. Valentines Day Bossacre


Verse 1: (Termanology)

I ain't complainin’ bout a label not signing me
I just got signed, my people like finally
Took long enough, but I ain't really sweat it
I knew I give me cheddick, pathetic the way we spend it
Our relatives wouldn’t let us, invented venomous records
Instead of ? checkin’ in College and get a credit
And that if we ever quit it, I didn’t stay on my shit
Delivered quality records, regardless if they spin it and
Shout out the real DJ’s who always held me down
And let me get up on they show when I get in town
Let me spit a 16 and play the hot shit
Cause they in love with that real Hip Hop shit
Not for the profit that went up in they pocket
How can all these flossin’ cats spittin’ that nonsense
Consequence reppin’ NYC now, Akrobatic he be reppin’ for the B now
5’9 he be reppin’ for the D now, Crooked I reppin Killa-Cali now
? stay reppin’ M.O.P. now, Termanology I still kill you with a Freestyle

Verse 2: (Royce Da 5’9)

From no beats to the technique, tables, streets to the neck
Keep blazin’, my rep speak for itself baby, my jacket is flawless
After I spit I can turn around and put my lyrics back in the toilet
That means I, spit that shit, radio don’t want it
But I still got chips, I am Legend, but not Will Smith
Just everybody else on the earth don’t exist

Verse 3: (Crooked I)

Adidas with no strings in ‘em, Levis with the crease in ‘em
Kangols I was seen in ‘em, Four-finger-rings yeah I was sleep in ‘em
Ever since the be-ginning I spit with extreme venom
Now they don’t respect rap phenomenon’s
Only rappers who dancin’ like Omarion
And I like Omarion, but this is Hip Hop homie
What kind of shit are we on

Verse 4: (Akrobatic)

I came up in a time where the focus was rhymin’
These rappers didn’t come a dime or dozen
And every drug dealer, didn’t sign they cousin’
Before every rap site online was buzzin’
Ak was rugged, but we know, record company people are shady tho
So I infiltrated the radio, now I got daily flows
For all the fellas and the ladies yo
I fall for it, and now they pay me dough

Verse 5: (Consequence)

Now what do I need to get a ?
When I can get more press, from playin’ Jay Z on Connect 4
And when it seemed like my career was on deaths door
Five videos later, of course they gone expect more
Cause they feel like I was just that close
They gettin’ ya to feel the kid like Chris Stokes
Cause anything that this kid wrote became an instant quote
They circle back now like his shit dope
So when the stream roll for 2008
As long as Cons around, ain't nobody that’s safe
As long as turns around, ain't nobody that’s safe
And this turnaround I’m going straight for the safe

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