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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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  Crooked I - Freedom Part 2 (ft. Fred Knuxx)
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:16 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I (feat. Fred Knuxx)
Song: Freedom Part 2
Produced by: X-plosive
Appears on: St. Valentines Day Bossacre


Intro: (Fred Knuxx)

Yeah, this is for all those that died for our freedom
I feel like I gotta be the one that carry on your legacy
Yeah

Verse 1: (Fred Knuxx)

I feel like the last of a dying breed
These crackers be eyeing me
Tryin’ to make you hard like, I ain't got mouths to feed
What happened to our people, while leaders is all evil
They cheat us and say we equal
Land of the ? eagle, more like snakes is lethal
And the government was just placed here to deceive you
Ya always said that “This people parish from a lack of knowledge”
So instead of seekin’ truth, you let ‘em brainwash us
Our forefathers was nothin’ but slave owners
Get out of line today and they throw the cage on us
I’m not that toatin’ black dude, that wild out and act rude
I’d rather be the one, that’ll uplift our black youth   

Chorus: (Fred Knuxx)

We want freedom, by any means necessary
We want freedom, by any means necessary
We need freedom, by any means necessary
Give us freedom, by any means necessary

Verse 2: (Crooked I)

Are your thoughts really yours or did they come from someone else
Were you taught to think or do you think for yourself
Wanna hide something from niggas, put it on a book shelf
Our minds are not in good health, the hood is yellin’ Crook help
They put us in a city full of civil guerilla warfare
We tell ‘em we sick of killin’ but they don’t feel us or care
Nor do they care for the innocent children born there
The system sick as Hitler, pissin’ on niggas who poor, yea
Check your history, look at what they did to me
Hundred million dead, African remains in the sea
Then I see the transvestite Statue of Liberty
Gotta have a dick for the way she fuckin’ us niggas G

Chorus: (Fred Knuxx)

We want freedom, by any means necessary
We want freedom, by any means necessary
We need freedom, by any means necessary
Give us freedom, by any means necessary

Verse 3: (Fred Knuxx)

Bush is the richest president, (why?)
Just look at 9/11 and see the evidence
It’s all there, kill those that’s innocent for gold and oil percentages
Then fool us, sayin’ it’s a act of terrorist
It’s like, the first album made by 50 Cent, see
They gettin’ richer while we die tryin’
They hell bound anyway, so they gone die fryin’
The mark of the beast is ? to the government
So why you think you tough as shit
On the block thuggin’ it, beefin’ with each other
They sittin’ back lovin’ it
It’s like we livin’ ?
And you wonder why we rebel and act militant
Because…

Chorus: (Fred Knuxx)

We want freedom, by any means necessary
We want freedom, by any means necessary
We need freedom, by any means necessary
Give us freedom, by any means necessary

Verse 4: (Crooked I)

? see me in a Bentley and they damn near wanna pass out
Say what they say, you don’t like America, get your ass out
I work hard for my money, I don’t need a handout
Even though you owe me reparations without a damn doubt
I smell somethin’ presidential, is that the kush
Naw that’s a war, worse than them sacks you push
Pimp slap the wuss, the country is like a dog lifting his hind leg
Yeah they all pissed at a Bush
Unseen hand sayin’ fuck it, let’s mislead ‘em
Show ‘em holograms of imaginary freedom
Feed ‘em lies and cheat ‘em
I remix the cliché
Now I say, since I can't join ‘em, I’ma beat ‘em

Chorus: (Fred Knuxx)

We want freedom, by any means necessary
We want freedom, by any means necessary
We need freedom, by any means necessary
Give us freedom, by any means necessary

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  Crooked I - Cal-if-or-ni-a (ft. Mr. Silky Slim, Roscoe Umali & Mash)
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:15 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I (feat. Mr. Silky Slim, Roscoe Umali & Mash)
Song: Cal-if-or-ni-a
Produced by: BH
Appears on:St. Valentines Day Bossacre


Chorus: (Mash)

When the choppers bang you won't hear a thang
Just another man slain in Cal-if-or-ni-a
We the truth in this, the rag ruthless clique
It’s on sight in Cal-if-or-ni-a

Verse 1: (Mr. Silky Slim)

The pimp game saved me, the concrete made me
The O.G.’s raised me, I’m ready to go bitch
? you should already know this
It’s big money involved, that’s why I stay focused
From Sac-Town to Dego, it’s all about the bank roll
Slighter than a safe box, stack it up like Lego
B.H. cut the beat, from the Santa Ana Halos
My foot’s in the door, now I’m here, and I can't go
You’re stuck with my yellow ass, grab your baby mama Jack
Then straight lace game on how to ridin’ in a Cadillac
I do magic, pull a mink out a gator hat
I don’t know about a hook man, but I check money out a bitch
Listen here, this my time
I give a fuck about your shine, I take that limelight
Make it rain on a hoe, you better get your mind right
Be surprised what bad bitch’ll do for a ? dyke   

Chorus: (Mash)

When the choppers bang you won't hear a thang
Just another man slain in Cal-if-or-ni-a
We the truth in this, the rag ruthless clique
It’s on sight in Cal-if-or-ni-a

Verse 2: (Roscoe Umali)

Oh my goodness, oh my god
Mobbin’ through the city like the Big Boss Hogg
Sneakin’ through the smog then chief another spark
It’s Mr. Umali spittin’ bars at you raw
Like smashin’ on a broad, raw dawg on the first night
I tell a bitch bounce and kick rocks like a dirt bike
I’m a hustler; gettin’ money is my birth rights
Spit game so tight, I can probably convert a dyke
Roscoe shine brighter than a search light
And everytime I bust, I murder mics
I ain't your stereo type but stereo typical rapper
I hop off the track and braw
Catch me overseas, in the sea on a sea do
Sippin’ ? so the bottle see-through
My team pack heat, triangle the face
Eagles is ready to put a whole in your body
So we can see through

Chorus: (Mash)

When the choppers bang you won't hear a thang
Just another man slain in Cal-if-or-ni-a
We the truth in this, the rag ruthless clique
It’s on sight in Cal-if-or-ni-a

Verse 3: (Crooked I)

You don’t like what you hear me spittin’ on your television
You got two ears, don’t you want to give me a second listen
Maybe then you can tell me what you think the records missin’
It’s missin’ me sayin’ “Fuck you” and whoever’s dissin’
Dude I fire straps then cover my tire tracks
If I say I didn’t kill ‘em, I’m lyin’ on wire taps
You got a dope sack, I’ll buy a track
Crooked I acquire stacks from writin’ them fire raps
Dirty money, I’m washin’ that, like a laundry mat
Plus I keep a quarter piece, do you Roger that?
Where my mobsters at, huh?
Won't you nod your Dodger hat
Where my conscious cats huh?
Promise I’ma conquer rap
Nigga skim through the book of my life
I’m confident you never ever met a Crook of my type
It’s like the business is my mistress and my hood is my wife
I’m puttin’ bullets in pipes for niggas who look at my ice, twice

Chorus: (Mash)

When the choppers bang you won't hear a thang
Just another man slain in Cal-if-or-ni-a
We the truth in this, the rag ruthless clique
It’s on sight in Cal-if-or-ni-a

Print this item

  Crooked I - Act Like You Know
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:13 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I (feat. Mic Moses)
Song: Act Like You Know
Produced by: Meech Wells & The Pusher
Appears on: St. Valentines Day Bossacre


Verse 1: (Crooked I)

Circle of Bosses till I die, oh!

Crooked I came, Crooked I saw, Crooked I conquered
You wanna know why? Cause Crooked I is bunkers
C.O.B., look at my entou-rage
We let bullets fly during live concerts
Bunch of wild young guns from the Westcoast
Lotta people dead, you could be the next ghost
Let the Tech smoke, let you off easy if you just got your legs broke
Your skinny little neck choked
Calm down, I ain't trippin’ on you anyway
Rather make money than enemies any day
Lotta niggas wanna do the shit the semi way
Really ain't them, they doin’ what the Henney say
I’m in my Coupe man, everything clean
In my seats I lean like a promethazine fiend
You never seen my rings, you never seen bling
I get ice and cream, it's a Dairy Queen thing

Chorus: (Crooked I)

Let me see your hands in the air, here we go
You know we gotta keep it hood everywhere we roll, oh
Get money cause we all about our dough
This is how we do it, better act like you know

Verse 2: (Mic Moses)

We in a cut throat business, where there’s no time for games
? the chronic, get rich, they wanna ride for fame
Lines of caine ain't the only thing the streets shine the game
No diamond rings cause the shit can turn to a violent thing
? when it comes to keep I’m a money type
Cause I’m on search for kingdoms, so fuck a crummy life
I’m on some different shit, tryin’ to do what ?
Just displayin’ my skills, till they know the dude is sick
I move quick like the speed of a hammer cock back
Like chalk that line around your body where you dropped at
Top that, I guarantee that you can't exceed mine
If you scuffle I guarantee that I ?
Weak mind is not an option when you dealin’ with a nocturnal animal
Beast that will stay killin’ shit
I represent this here for the Coast of the West region
Where Pac is the best and the rest is just left even

Chorus: (Crooked I)

Let me see your hands in the air, here we go
You know we gotta keep it hood everywhere we roll, oh
Get money cause we all about our dough
This is how we do it, better act like you know

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  Crooked I - Wake They Game Up (ft. Yukmouth)
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:11 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I (feat. Yukmouth)
Song: Wake They Game Up
Produced by:
Appears on: St. Valentines Day Bossacre


Verse 1: (Yukmouth)

The wrist 40 carats above zero, the neck sub zero
The bitches choose the chosen one, above zero
Sittin’ on Dub-zeros, the greatest American Thug Hero
Dodgin’ the truck ?
I’m like Pac in his prime, always cockin’ a 9
The whip transform like Optimus Prime
So the Benz Autobahn, translusive roots,
Automatic start zoomin’ down the Autobahn
Hot wheels on a hot car
And I’m buyin’ out the bar so we party like a Rock Star
Money talks like yada, yada, yada
One look at the wrist I’m fuckin’ on your baby mama
One look at the whip I’m leavin’ with the latest model
Now the actress holla, I’m a date for the Oscars
And I’m draped like a mobster, antics Prada
Even my wallet chain cost a thousand Dollars

Chorus: (Yukmouth)

Wake em up, wake em up, I’ma wake they game up (3x)
Nigga don’t hate us, step your whip and your bitch game up
Nigga wake your game up

Verse 2: (Crooked I)

Boss of the West, Dodger blue wearer
I’m on you niggas heads like I got stock in New Era
Crooked don’t care if you with him or not
Dude pockets so fat they need insulin shots
Engine operate on more pistons than Michigan got
I name my pits Biggie and Pac, nigga I’m hot
Go ahead, stick your chest out, like some implants
What they call true religion? Oh yeah, them pants
Keep two Rugers in ‘em, just for piss ants
Let’s dance, I knock you right out your defense stands
I was always taught that the sky is the limit
I reach for the sky throw up the Eastside in a minute
Wake em up, wake em up
Crooked I is the business, every whip on the strip, Crooked I was in it
When I’m sleepin’ I’m dreamin’ of my Boss lifestyle
Then I wake up and write down what I’m recitin’ right now

Chorus: (Yukmouth)

Wake em up, wake em up, I’ma wake they game up (3x)
Nigga don’t hate us, step your whip and your bitch game up
Nigga wake your game up

Verse 3: (Yukmouth)

You need to drink a Red Bull, heard it give you wings
I’m in that red bull, or the spur with the wings
Chevy Lambo, Bentley Continental thing
Ball in the USA, Springsteen with the bling
The cocaine cowboy with the triple beam
Bust a bird down the, the breast, thighs and chicken wings
And I’m sharper than a guillotine
Hit the scene, steppin’ on white squares like MJ in Billy Jean
Step your gear up, my chains the year of
The coke the year up, that rose the year of
And my earlobe froze, I need ear muffs
Poppin’ Rose with hoes, niggas just need to (wake they game up)
I’m so crispy, the Louis 9-50
In that 5-50 then I’m flyer than a Frisbee
Smokin’ presidential gettin’ Lewinski
Got Britney in the trunk, full of Bobby and Whitney, nigga

Chorus: (Yukmouth)

Wake em up, wake em up, I’ma wake they game up (3x)
Nigga don’t hate us, step your whip and your bitch game up
Nigga wake your game up

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  Crooked I - What That Mean
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:09 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I
Song: What That Mean
Produced by: Rick Rock
Appears on: St. Valentines Day Bossacre


Intro: (Crooked I)

He’s talking about that paper
He’s talking money right now

What that mean? It mean get that green!

Verse 1: (Crooked I)

I’m one of the hottest niggas you can ever produce, huh
Who let this arrogant character lose? Huh?
I’m Ghetto America’s poster child, now
Throw the Grey Goose there in the juice, lames
Wanna hang? Go stare in the noose
They say the beef’s over but I’m unaware of the truce
I’m wearin’ a Artful Dodger Hoody, L.A. Dodger 59-Fifty, yeah
This my city, yeah, I’m so versatile
Throwin’ up W’s even tho it’s commercial now
Baby girl wanna know if im worth her while
Bitch with the emptiest purse, the first to smile
I let her know what that paper do
Chain swangin’ like Mayweather on PayPer View
She said you rockin’ so much ice, I’ma pray for you
I said, whoever rob me, gone need some prayer too
Now…

Verse 2: (Crooked I)

Yeah, shorty saw him comin’ in a glare, I pass by like a giant blur
What she really saw was Tim Duncan in the air
Wasn’t nothin’ but a flyin’ Spur
Gun under chair, I swear that there
Beauty salon trigger, yeah thats hair
Somebody asked, is the LBC dead
Don’t pay attention to the he say, she say
Magazines askin’ me bout my street cred
Can't say a lot, y’all dudes could be feds
All you need to know is that I rock those mics
Nigga I’m so nice that I cop those bikes
With the hot chrome pipes
See me go nuts, doin’ the kinda donuts Cops don’t like
I’m a couple pennies short from havin’ Cents (sense)
Hands on that change you can match the prints

Verse 3: (Crooked I)

Put a bow on the flow, it’s a gift from god
Go against my squad, I’ma lift my ride
When you in the limelight, gotta do the crime right
So, twist my arm, I wrist my job
Call me Young Bump Johnson on that hoodlum shit
In a 645 with a Muslim chick
Since the Quran said to cover her hair
I’ma keep the top up when I push the whip
Stay gangster gutter, you can't fade a brother
I son you like I laid your mother
Then step on stage, watch women of all ages hover
Got the dance floor bouncin’ like it’s made a whooper
Why is that Young Boss? Cause we make hits
This is turn table crack, let the DJ mix
I built my house with them bricks, like Freeway Rick
That’s how I keep throwin’ money on them Freeway chicks

Throw some money in the air 

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  Crooked I - Banger On My Lap
Posted by: hijinks - 12-23-2008, 12:08 AM - Forum: Lyrics - No Replies

Artist: Crooked I
Song: Banger On My Lap


Yea, Circle Of Bosses, C.O.B., Crooked I
Yo
Banger On My Lap
My seat's leaned back
I'm ready when beef crack (I hope you know the business)
White tee and tats, Fresh Dodger hats
Long Beach is where we at

Crooked keep infinite cannons to blame at y'all
Put hammers in your mouth like ambassor, a damn Neanderthal
Ratchets draw, I'm last to fall, standin' tall
Your blood on the canvas, that's all the camera saw
Yea, fake pussies despise me
Cause I pull up dumpin' shots while the Bathin Ape hoody disguise me
And for the shit I'm writing you should straight Pulitzer prize me
I'm a beast, I aint lettin' stray bullets survive me
This Wes Craven's a thug, I'm Tech wavin'
Makin you a res-haven for slugs, your chest cavin'
You meet death facin' the mud, I'm neck breakin'
Die in your vest tasting your blood, I'm breath takin'
My trigger finger go ring, them things tored you
Doctors are gone find  a machine to breathe for you
The Hammers will King Thor you, the beam floor you
It tore through your spleen, poor you
Choirs will sing for you
I'm missin' noodles, you niggas poodles
Dont try to resist cause this is futile, but I give you kudos
Props my nigga, then I'ma give you two holes
When cops come asking what happened
I'ma tell em "who knows"
Never talking, I rather walk in a cell
Direct a call for the bail cause tellin' is awful as hell
And snitchin's a nail in your coffin as well
Get knocked off from shots called by Young Bosses in jail
This is the life we lead nightly
Creep lightly through the streets with G's like me
It's like the serpent made Adam & Eve bite me
I put the knowledge of good and evil on trees like leafs
Paper, I flip cream with my notebook
Hot 16's and a dope hook
Sometimes I freestyle, now I call that flow the no-look
You dont use pens either? good, but you no Crook
I dust your flow of just to show of
Busters know they cant term this hustlers blow of
Face it, you basic, you whack as niggas is gettin' wasted
I reach in my waist and my .38 rip
Bullet stray zip through the air like a spaceship
Hit you under the chin give you a face lift, you aint shit
I'm on some bang, bang Circle Gang shit
Puttin blood on your shoes like Games Hurricane kicks
Get murdered man, with perfect aim get your vertebras clipped
Further pain administer from my burner, same clip
Slip, we wont leave a witness
When you in my city, I hope you know the business
Yea nigga
When you in my city, hope you know the business

Banger On My Lap
My seat's leaned back
I'm ready when beef crack (I hope you know the business)
White tee and tats, Fresh Dodger hats
Long Beach is where we at

So I hope you know the business, knawImean
I'm over here on this mothafuckin Westcoast holdin it dizzown
YouknowImtalkinabout
Eastside Long Beach baby, 562 till the whole world through
Boss of the New West Movement! C.O.B.!

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