Lyrics:
Yo, man, let me make some Cap'n Crunch, alright (ah)
Yo, man, we have any milk?
Yo, what time is it? (Yeah, sure)
I don't know, what day is it?
So they been asking where I been at (uh)
Bitch, I been busy
Nigga, I don't be playing them games
Man, I'm still one phone call away
But you can
a long way to make it here
Gotta thank God that I made it here (yeah)
Respected by every hood, nigga, throw up
Stood solid, never let niggas ho us
I
bape goin jojo
Smokin cake movin slow mo
Pockets skrate
Still jugg a load tho
Rollin zaza by the eighth
This ain't no soso
I don't want Russian creams
If
to Juice man, 21 that's too damn young
Fly high like you Zeus man, fuck the feds oh woah
Canadian goose man mix it with some Saint Laurent
Sipping on some
Every stone a story, like a rosary
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Man In the Long Black Coat
Bob Dylan
Hay oh ah
Is you with me?
Well throw your hands in the air
All my thugs and soldiers
Fuck it even players
Whether you hate us or you show us
to the heat
I'm not descreet when it comes to the dogg
I'm a real O like eight-ball
We see now us by the gang-banging
Crack-slanging, entertain us
Sipping
pounds (dollar mà obu pounds)
That boy of yesterday now buzi man
I Just want to get my money long
Half a milli on my neck from ingnoliment store
She said
a light, nigga?
Used to chastise or string us up to spite niggas
War to fight for the culture, instead we eaten by vultures
They mix us like mimosas, hang
through!
Product stretch
I got it mastered man
In the hood I'm like plastic man!
Stretch
Fantastic man,
I make the money come faster man!
Yeah
Your
ass was Amazonian
Dab by the slab, got you feeling like it's opium
Xo, bad hoes they call me Diablo Esco
Unless it's money me no hablo
Still wish I
shit on a regular basis
Got bitches everywhere in all kind of places
I can pull out my little black phone book
Flip every last page take a long look
on the way
It was just the four of us uptown corners
Peabody street venturing off Georgia
I never hugged no corner
That is not an ice-cream
Truck that's
call up the line
Get down wit', down wit' us
This is a request Mr. Radio Man
Just one desire from a hip-hop fan
Hey DJ (you're on the line
All about his bag, with money he don’t play
I like a cute face, strong arm on my man
Slim waist, long arm in the pants
Good taste, you can tell by
not bust at my man's
Cuz we'll bust at anything, you understand
I been down for a long time, niggas claim they been on the frontline
And I been getting
Martin but we buy by the case long
Smoke back to back 'til our motherfuckin' eyes closed
Paparazzi follow us everywhere we go
He know, she know, I'll be
KXNG CROOKED, Eastside, Long Beach, California
My name is KXNG CROOKED
I snap on you rappers often
When I'm spazzin' I'm just gettin' my
got Bobby by the pound, Whitney by the key
DJ Screw by the gallon, bitch the game belong to me
I got money on my beeper, dead trees on my phone
punch man up like a dojo
I'll leave a mark like he's shoto
And I need me that goes up and down like a yoyo
I step in and the parties done
I'll dip and mix
had more fun with nothing
Plot that shit out man you know I had to get some money
Can't front to you like these niggas, act like everyday was sunny
Shit
money good
Man, I hate a old big dick-riding ass bitch
Never let a sack chaser hang in my clique
Fuck getting clout, bitch, I'm tryna get rich
to get this off my chest
You a bitch if I'm rappin'
And you say you not impressed
Your input does not add money to my check
Who the fuck about to do this
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