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Crooked I- The boss

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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 llamas
Lotta niggas like to say it'll eat you like Jeffrey Dahmer
But Imma say it'll eat you like it was part of the diner
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 MCs like to say they flippin birds
Do you mean a middle finger or did you pigeon sur
Wasn't cooki' in the kitchen, shit is just absurd
I'm servin different verbs and nouns, shit I'm flippin words
Drive by shooter, nah, 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 muthafuckin MC, Crooked is still that
Tired of you phony ass rappers pissin me off
Im feelin like Im 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
Polytheism, you aint gotta change over to me
We both gods even though 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

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, thats where we had em
Livin on the Eastcoast, I was only 16
Big bro in the 6-4 with the inf(rared) beam
All of my Philly niggas, yea they had sick schemes
Its only right that I put em in my 16s
Homie slangin to escape the hard livin
Had a gift for sellin crack, can't say that its god given
Lotta clientèle, think one of 'em Todd Bridges
1st and 15th screamin Money, Cars, Bitches
All the Gs 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 watching spit on Beat Street
Dont know skills, put my shit on repeat
Still dont know put my shit on each week
Im 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

Channel: Music
Uploaded: April 9, 2008 at 5:14 am
Author: mdynasty607

Length: 00:04:02
Rating: 5.00
Views: 9042

Tags: hip-hop rap crooked valentines days bossacre boss real

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