| I swore to the G.O.D…
|
| I was finna get mine…
|
| Cause mama you done made it out Chicago’s Westside!
|
| HO HO mama let’s ride…
|
| We roll
|
| Bonnie and Clyde
|
| I ain’t goin' out quiet…
|
| Got time on my left wrist
|
| God to my right
|
| But I’m outta my right mind
|
| So be quiet…
|
| And don’t ask what I’m rapping for
|
| This shit is personal…
|
| My mama gon' live in the Hollywood Hills fore she gets to the nursing home…
|
| Cause name five MC’s in the game right now who can take me down…
|
| I’ll wait…
|
| Crooked!
|
| We might just have to give em' the rhythm that they came for now-
|
| When I hit em' with the potent-
|
| Profane flow-
|
| Till the propane flame goes out…
|
| Until then
|
| I’m the Rap Godzilla
|
| Miraculous
|
| I’m coming to take the president down
|
| Cause I came for the most hateful
|
| Cave troll
|
| In White House
|
| Who went AWOL
|
| On his wife, what an a-hole
|
| Woman say no
|
| But he won’t stop grabbing the pussy by the handful
|
| Cause the man knows
|
| That he can’t lose
|
| With a few scandals
|
| When Vladimir Putin is handing him
|
| Wikileaks used to advantage
|
| Disparaging Hillary
|
| Putting that nail through her casket in…
|
| And it’s so frickin' apparent
|
| This country is reaching a point of combustion
|
| Where faith in humanity’s practically vanishing…
|
| Conservative values have died
|
| They’re inanimate
|
| And liberals are panicking…
|
| Turning to pussies
|
| They’re packing their bags up and moving to Canada…
|
| Canada???
|
| You mother fuckers ain’t really man enough
|
| I don’t give a fuck
|
| I’m never running from nothing
|
| Even if Donald’s got the nukes
|
| And he’s coming for everybody in the opposition
|
| I’ma be there opening up a can of the whoopy-
|
| I’m whooping the man
|
| Cause I’m not a man, I’m a legend
|
| And I reckon my records
|
| Are breaking every single record
|
| Known to man in a second
|
| The world ain’t ready for the return of the mic
|
| Murdering menace
|
| I hurt em', and burn em'
|
| Invented
|
| The word of demented
|
| So call em' a medic
|
| With anesthetic
|
| Before they turn into someone you never heard of
|
| Pathetic
|
| At first I was heading for heaven
|
| But the devil said I’d be better never repenting
|
| For my pen again
|
| When the venom is venerable
|
| I’m too fucking incredible
|
| Un-bitable flow
|
| It isn’t edible
|
| Nor legible
|
| My decibels and trebles
|
| Are impeccable
|
| When flipping a rap
|
| I’m kicking it back
|
| To the momentum
|
| I first had when I was entering my ZONEEE
|
| WHOA…
|
| Look at the show!
|
| Luke Gawne
|
| Crooked I
|
| And Craig O…
|
| You probably thought
|
| I wasn’t gon' slaughter ever syllable
|
| But I’m ripping em' to bits
|
| With the wickedest spit
|
| And bitch
|
| I’m limitless
|
| YOOO!
|
| Walking round with thoughts of redemption
|
| Plotting through my head, voices said speak of division
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay
|
| Picture perfect fantasy is it?
|
| Rotting till we’re dead, voices spread, nobody listen!
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay
|
| Everybody worried bout they guns and the second amendment, end it-
|
| My nigga I’ma tell you in advance
|
| You want America to ban every weapon invented
|
| Just put a gun in a real nigga hands
|
| 'Cause me holdin' steel wasn’t built in the plans
|
| Elephant in the room, I’ma poacher (Shot!)
|
| Deliver the wound, I’ma smoke ya
|
| Veteran in a mood, I’ma choke ya
|
| Even if you’re ill with your hands
|
| You still getting killed it don’t matter
|
| When the shooter go bananas in Nevada shooting outta the window of the Mandalay
|
| Bay like he had a McCain
|
| He sprayin' the crowd shatter
|
| And the data
|
| Don’t add up, more than 58 dead…
|
| Conspiracy theorists sayin' they really ain’t dead
|
| But tell that to the motherfucker laying on the ground
|
| With his brain matter splattered, head shattered on a platter
|
| From the automatic ratata-tata-
|
| That’ll make you change everything in your mind frame when the time came
|
| Dylann Roof, let his nine aim
|
| Walked into the church, turned that sh*t into a fire range
|
| Squeezin' on the D’Eagle til' his mind hangs sideways
|
| Nine slain, cries, pain, eyes drain, lies blame-
|
| How do I explain hatred to an underage kid
|
| Who’s parents got their lives claimed- |
| By a killer-
|
| That the coppers bought a whopper for, at the Burger King
|
| After the murder scene-
|
| They don’t give a fuck if we all die!
|
| Doin' a copper like an Eazy-E walk-by
|
| Slaughterhouse, local pig gettin' hogtied
|
| Fall guy, cause all I’m seein' is you devils being greedy for dinero
|
| But you fuckin' with a pharaoh, I’m the builder of the pyramid, monument
|
| My eye’s on top of it
|
| I’m all eyes seein', like Horus
|
| All I ever needed was a chorus
|
| The shit’ll get 'em hooked from Philly to Middlebrook
|
| These killers shook, you’re lookin' at Crooked you’re lookin' at a book
|
| Crook is a thesaurus, «godlike being»
|
| This industry is full of shady-ism, they be into favoritism, take a listen
|
| Lyric disciple, I wrote the lyrical bible
|
| Whoever said they did it, I’ma call it plagiarism, they was into Atheism
|
| Paganism, Satanism — wait a minute
|
| Pay the menace, great attention, haters dissin', they be trippin'
|
| They be listin', crazy spittin', daily rhythms, eighty spitta’s-
|
| Ate em' like a plate of chicken
|
| Flavor sticker for the blatant haterism-
|
| Say the mission, ain’t a mission if the lyricism-
|
| Isn’t a main event when I’m paintin' pictures…
|
| You fuckin' with a verbal gun clapper, I hunt rappers
|
| My gun smoke blunt rappers
|
| Quicker than your blaze a swisha!
|
| Walking round with thoughts of redemption
|
| Plotting through my head, voices said speak of division
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay
|
| Picture perfect fantasy is it?
|
| Rotting till we’re dead, voices spread, nobody listen!
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay
|
| Oh, whoa, oh whoa, there’ll be hell to pay |