Crewed Up

[Verse 1 - Stage One] They call me Bad Lieutenant when my eyes are squinted Child of the 70s and the 80s was in it Lost the first homeboy in the 9-0 and liable To get the gun buckin at 5-0, I'm tribal I'm from a place where the *niggas* are jelly And pretend to be your friend and put one your belly And you can keep on yelling, the cops won't come You want beef, we got burgers and then some We from the era when we learned on our own Runnin wild in the streets with both parents at home Kind of hard to find a young un alone - caused we was crewed up Taggin on the walls taught wars and getting chewed up [Verse 2 - St. Paul Slim] Now I don't know about y'all, but I'm bout to make a small fortune By taking small things and blowing em out of proportion Using sarcasm as my second language Look mom I'm famous, I mean I'm flagrant You say you write your best rhymes when you high I say I write my best rhymes cause I'm fly This is why I'm cold, I'm Minnesota nice If you want my CD I will give you special price Haha, take Trummond's advice St. Paul Slim the best homie, none of its hype So please lil asshole, keep your mouth closed 'Fore your momma be like "Look at my son, he out cold" [Verse 3 - Muja Messiah] You could tell I'm focused by the look in my eye You could see I'm dirty by how clean my kicks is You know I tell the truth, I got no reason to lie Hey, like I tell my chicks "You ain't got a lotta kick it" All I'm trynna do is get a piece of the pie And turn these bricks into a legit business Now run along and go home to your wives And leave me and Slug here to play with these bitches You know I spit the sickest sickness since syphilis Mixed with malaria, fuck it, the more the merrier B-Boy, D-Boy, yep I'm in your area Muja Messiah uh huh, hello America [Verse 4 - YZ] Yo, yo, y'all wack, yo what the fuck is new? I'm back wit Atmos and the crew To do this you need style, I thought you knew It's not a diss, yo it's just my point of view Maybe if I turn sideways, y'all *niggas* will Throw lyrics my way instead of the highway Now getting ran over by cars and Land Rovers We starred, you sub par, maybe send your man over Pardon, you gon' step to this Spit phat, not anorexic shit Come stacked boy, it ain't no need to go there I knock rappers out, y'all scratch and pull hair [Verse 5 - Brother Ali] I hustle hard for the love of god My life has been the biggest struggle for the bloody start I knuckle up and throw the hands of my thug at heart So when the shit hit the fan I don't come apart, I breathe and shrug it off Atmosphere - the Big Brother's big brothers Catch is here to turn king to wrist cutters Just trust it ain't no regular shit That's a polite asshole and a sensitive pimp You would think it was a party, not a Cadillac Church mosque, have a knack Dr. Dre Training Day rappers don't know how to act Remove em all from my sight like a cataract Poof! It's a magic act [Verse 6 - Toki Wright] Walk over beats like DMC, three stripes Thievery be three strikes, visa need three swipes DVDs, jeans clean, cuts brush dandruff Mobile phones, student loan, quarter blown pampers Chilling at the party in B-Boy stance And they looking at me funny, why? Cause they can't dance So I'm cutting up and strutting up, on buttercup but just enough To lean on top of this metropolis with binoculars Walk like a pimp, think like a Macintosh Battle scars, yah'll still trying to figure out your avatars Leave the cameras on, told ya partner that he can't perform Brought a torch to burn the building, he think I'mma hand it to him [Verse 7 - Blueprint] Yeah, yeah, I solemnly swear To fight the good fight as long as I'm here But sometimes the good fight don't seem fair Cause all the best soldiers we had ain't here They gone now, we all on our own now And most of those left ain't got no style You give em an inch they try to take a whole mile Too overconfident to keep a low profile Pump your brakes, stay in your lane A bunch of fakes chasing fame I'll punch your face and take your chain Sit your 5 dollar ass down before I make change [Verse 8 - Slug] Break these chips down, count your business Ain't nothing free, it's a James Brown Christmas So god bless the underground now and give it To the sound of the drums while none of us outlive it I treat Hip Hop like a sport Stay on my game, put my time on the court While you complain and get high some more Might explain why your team can't find support Now catch me in the back wit a whisky Chattin up a missy like I'm attractive and witty I have to dip to do my raps and get busy Why don't you come see me when I'm back in your city?