Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Uh-Oh , by - Crooked I. Release date: 30.07.1999
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Uh-Oh |
| Uh-oh nigga |
| Bring it |
| This is what happens when you bring the orchestra to the ghetto (live |
| Orchestra) |
| Yea, is ya’ll ready for this? |
| Bein' the ghetto representative I am |
| I’m guaranteed to slam |
| When I drops that whoopty wop bam |
| Somebody stop me from poppin |
| I’ll be god damned |
| I’m at the chop shop gettin my drop top slammed |
| I’m hotter than a skillet |
| Grabbin' the mic to kill it |
| Pillage your village |
| With the illest lyrics |
| I feel as though my skill is the realest asset |
| That I possess |
| It’s Crooked I takin' over the west, yes |
| I’m at the Benz dealership, cell phone and a Glock |
| Straight outta the ghetto lookin' like I dont belong on the lot |
| But I’mma cop one, drop one |
| Then I’mma smash through LA county |
| Jump out that V6 with house shoes and brownies |
| Flossin' on the one time |
| Money burnin like a vampire in sunshine (burn) |
| For those who dont know what I said |
| Game I’m spillin' |
| It’s like the ceilin' |
| Over your head |
| It’s the C-R double uh-O uh-O K-E-D |
| Rockin' the whole sha-oh uh-oh |
| It’s the C-R double uh-O uh-O K-E-D |
| Rockin the whole sha-oh uh-oh |
| Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh |
| The prolific writer inside of this pacific sider |
| Won’t let me write up |
| Simple hate in spite of the money I might acquire |
| I gotta be tighta |
| Than any thug that recite a |
| Yea my pockets mighta get wider |
| But see I’m still a RIDA |
| I slide up on hoes who be clubbin' |
| Cause I don’t see nothin wrong |
| With shovin' a muffin up in your oven |
| The lovin' after the huffin and the puffin |
| You can choose, I ain’t hand-cuffin |
| Baby I’m reppin from the W-E-S |
| Wait a minute… T-S |
| I-D-E-S we get ready to B. S |
| P. S. we fresh for '99 you suckas |
| No more hittin' licks and trippin' off these fuckers |
| Now that ski-mask is strictly for Aspen |
| I used to crack crews like statues in Athens |
| Now I got 'em slam dancin' like Marilyn Manson fans |
| And throwin' a tantrum to the anthem |
| Known Crooked I comin' steadily, heavily |
| In felony they tellin' me my pedigree |
| It better be incredibly high fidelity |
| See, let it be known hypothetically |
| Step to me? |
| Wrong theoretically |
| Your head will be flown, flown |
| I’m backstage in the zone |
| It’s 10:54 |
| Six minutes Crooked I and you’re on |
| Uh-uh on first I do my s-s-song |
| Then I take a lady h-h-home |
| …And there you have it |
| Thats what happens when the T to the I-L |
| Connects with Mr. Crooked I |
| You see us comin? |
| Uh-oh |