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