Put You on the Game

[Intro] Yes, sir, Hip Hop Weekly It's forty-two Countdown, ten more left after this one Let's go Woo, yeah Before I, before I dead this series, man I gotta rock beats from, uh From all the artists that I respect you know Haha, yeah It's Hip Hop Weekly, nigga, I'm Crooked I, C.O.B., yeah [Verse 1] Gimme dead presidents, it's like the cemetery's in my pocket It's like I got green obituaries in my wallet Not only visionary, I'm a prophet It ain't nothing else on my itinerary but guap, bitch To you haters, my fo-fo go to war for a hobby More than Bonnie did with Clyde, shotty explore your body And you ballers, I fold more paper than origami You get shit on like somebody tipped over your porta-potty Mark Zuckerberg started Facebook, I'ma start FaceCrook A site for rappers who want to face Crook I got the game shook, I'm a different animal My senses so sharp, I can hear how touch and taste look Hittin' licks out West, in the Tri-State, it's a straight jux Emeril Live, my .38 cooks I direct your death better than James Brooks Straight hair trigger, my nigga, don't make me say "Whoops" My bad, trigger slipped, the biggest niggas get clipped like coupons Flipped in your Yukon Picture a prodigy, a genius like Jimmy Neutron Still hood enough to cum all over your bitch's futon Got a fetish for lettuce, gimme them croutons Every whip I'm in has been registered in the Dupont The rap reaper, I crack speakers I crush niggas to salt, pepper and paprika My raps eat ya, you didn't know I was that ether The track freaker, my hood game ain't bad either I clap heaters and a nigga attract divas I'll black Jeep her, like Cool J, I'll backseat her When I retire, I'ma disappear with a black diva Then come back when the world's in need of a black leader I'm not fat, I'm still thinking with a younger mind I'm still dumping nines and fucking them drunken dimes I'm still on the grind for that cake from Duncan Hines I'm still tied to crime, for the hood, my love is blind I know that don't sound like the makings of a Martin Luther King, but I'm a human being, beg your pardon We can all be great man, nobody's perfect I want to put my faith in politicians, nobody's worth it Fuck it, I'm sipping Henny, going hard with God, forgive me Got me ghost riding the Bentley in the parking lot of Denny's If anybody trip, they'll see a artist, pop a semi I'm gunnin' for the money, but my target's not the pennies Had a vision of moms in the market, rocking Fendi Then it came to fruition, and I started popping Remy I started off with nickels, then I started clocking twenties Quick story, let me tell you why part of Pac is in me His sister told me all of his struggles was for his fam Took her from nothing to something, that's exactly who I am, damn Can I talk to you? Let me talk to you Talkin' to the doors of success, watch how I walk through you Keep your mind on the paper, the universe'll bring the vault to you Damn, you don't think like a boss, do you? I'm on that Eastside, I'm in my G5 Anybody blocking my grind is getting deep-fried Like Mickey D's fries, they tell me heat rise That's why I raise the heat and then I squeeze five That's how I send you tricks to bathe in Hell's flames I'm rich, bitch, like Rick "Dave Chappelle" James That's how I send tricks to bathe in Hell's flames Rich bitch, rich bitch [Outro] Hahahahaahaha, yeah Yeah, I could tell I could tell there's a few niggas who didn't know I was a beast on this bitch Hahahahaha, woo This ain't nothing new, nigga I'm going to fifty-two, then I'm through But I could go to five-hundred, nigga Hahahahahaha, yeah Hip Hop Weekly, C.O.B., Circle of Bosses, Crooked I Treacherous is the motherfuckin' movement Horseshoe Gang in the motherfuckin' building Y'all know what I'm doing right