Lyrics Goin' Bad - Crooked I, Keyana

Goin' Bad

[Intro: KeyAna)
I’m a motherfucking gangsta, I’m a, I’m a, I’m a
I’m a motherfucking gangsta
You run around the back while you covered in dough
You sitting in the 'Lac with that heat on the floor
It’s goin' ba-a-a-ad, ba-a-a-ad
Two knocks and I’m?
in babe
He say, give up the cash or we spraying the place
It’s goin' ba-a-a-ad, ba-a-a-ad
Yeah, you know the streets feed me and my associates
That bread and that fucking cheese on our grocery list
Pockets thick as an Atlanta girl, stroke us chicks
My new shit hit my palms with them poker chips
I’m doing business with red laces and blue 'Chucks
Now I’m in a white hood similar to Klu Klux
Two bitches, two AK’s and two trucks
Celibate twins, I don’t give two fucks
Treated me just like a dead roach so I swallow egg yolks and move heavy bags,
Al a Fred Roach
My baby got the ??
Give a player brains in the back of the plane, she my head coach
I’m loadin' up pistols, niggas full of jealousy
Ain’t nobody got this car, haters can tell it’s me
My garlic Benz with those pepper seats, every season I’m strapped,
you better reach (Nigga breathe!)
I know the feds are takin' snaps of my license
I meet with my partners they hit us with them tracking devices
We go get 'em remove then we hoppin' back in the Chryslers
It’s priceless them hidden camera’s in the back of the license
Welcome to the underworld, my nigga wait a minute
Nothing but gangstas in it, nothing but hookers getting high off everything
invented
You need a product then we gotta find a way to send it, we gotta play to win it
We gotta play like we the greatest in it, we gotta take the payment
I’m in the swamp alligator swimmin'
Niggas kill you over chains and 'em rim, momma raised 'em to win,
streets raised 'em to sin
Make a movie 'bout my life bring my face to the films
Tyler Perry can’t direct it, it’s too gangsta for him
(I-I-I-I'm a motherfucking gangsta)
And here’s how the movie begins
Opening scene you see my mother smokin' some green, my brother rolling porch up
and crack selling dope to the fiends, me?
I’m thirteen got some chrome in my jeans
I’m a hustler lookin' up to Freeway Rick
My traffic game so ill I made the freeway sick
Sent a hundred pounds outta town I’m caking for sure
Still living like my paper is low, here we go
You mistake me for a bitch tryna play with my dough
I got a automatic sprayer with no, serial
Reppin' sssutt sssutt C.O.B.
that’s my crew
Just some fly motherfuckers doin' what we do
Organised crime we outta your?
dummy
Fuck your Audemar our time worth more than your money
We combinin' all our energy to take over this industry our synergy symmetry is
finna be felt tremendously
Enemies is gonna remember me from Tennessee to Italy, mix some Hennessey with?
and make a toast
To the hustlers, the real ones
Real raps nigga real guns
California behind me, like I crossed the state line
Gucci belt, Gucci watch, that’s how I waste time
I said that’s how I waste time
You got the pelvis flow nigga you waste lines
Yeah
I’m in Long Beach ridin' out
Doing business with snitches that ain’t what Crooked I about
You niggas puttin' your head right in a Lion’s mouth
I’m puttin' bread on your head?
I’m puttin' bread on your head, like you pay for a blowjob
Spray you with no problems so calm
Kick in your door put your family in handcuffs
Slap you so goddamn hard your wife will man up
You run around the back while you covered in dough
You sitting in the 'Lac with that heat on the floor
It’s goin' ba-a-a-ad, ba-a-a-ad
Two knocks and I’m?
in babe
He say, give up the cash or we spraying the place
It’s goin' ba-a-a-ad, ba-a-a-ad
(I-I-I-I'm a motherfucking gangsta)