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brooklyn 7 minute freestyle (acapella) @the well public house - crooked i lyrics

(royce da 5’9″)
“brooklyn, if ya’ll wanna hear crooked i do an acapella let me here yah say
do that sh-t, do that sh-t, do it x2

(crooked i) “yo brooklyn, my name crooked i from the east side of long beach, california.. i’m happy to be here right now.. and everybody in my f-ckin’ crew’s about that like my g”

my gun’ll load
i live by another code
my desire — run the globe
while you thinking you was born to be the sh-t
because you fell out of your mother’s other hole
h-ll motherf-cking no
you don’t think crooked i’s hot?
tell me why not? is it cause my maybach’s in your blind spot?
i sleep with one eye open like a insomnia-stricken cyclops
cause i could rest in a pine box
i’m on; so many drinks, can’t even count ’em
so high i fall up the stairs ‘stead of down ’em
so high, call that american airlines
brooklyn, i f-ck it up e’ery time!
i tell a rapper, you not a legend like john
move back, like his embarr-ssing hairline
n’ let the heir to this terror shine
throughout ugliness, them slaughters there with me
it’s all lovie smith, my team bear with me
still like i’m feeling like a organ donor
so many n-ggas dying to get a part of me
like i was born with a rare kidney
but come and get me
i’ll leave you down under somewhere in sydney
different type of chopper, still airlifting!!
see, my mama named me dominick
that’s anonymous with ominous
i’m in this game to show you what drama is
i’m in this game to conquer it
like genghis khan and his monstrous entourage
what challenger can dodge my barrage?
look at the dupont registry, that’s my garage
convertible beamer, paint blacker than amistad
hear the engine noise i’m ballin’ with different toys
still i rap like kool g. when he was rippin’ “poison”
my pen game is sick, call it pen-is-illin or penicilin
sky’s the limit, that’s why i ain’t have to k!ll the ceilin’
you guys are gimmicks, hide your women
crooked’s into virginia, drilling the realest women
feel a villain, i fill em with big pimping
even the virgin
cut off my leg, i throw a shoe on my third one
look how easy the words come
i’m the west coast savior
that’s why they say “church” when my verse done
speaking of church, i’m from the city where sinners dwell
said it’s the l-b-c, we came to give ’em h-ll
it’s judgement day, and i’m judging these infidels
sipping zinfandel, my liquor be off the richter scale
its 2012, we about all bars, we the chuck taylor crew
we all stars. you add eminem, and the hits are the hardest
we turn dj’s to mma fighters when they mix marshall artists

i’m from the west coast, we ain’t in with the garbage
you ain’t f-cking with that dodger hat, unless your name mr. marcus
i lift your carc-ss
and if you listen to this ill spit in your whip
the flow’ll get you carsick
this long beach every day, y’all
i say free my homie tray dee, i say r.i.p. nate dogg

(joell ortiz) “he said rest in peace nate dogg by the way ya’ll!!”

i’m just a slaughter rider
i’m waiting for you in the same bas-m-nt
that biggie smalls had your daughter tied up
i’m waiting on this snitch’s car to drive up
he come inside and die
i hop in his whip, n’ turn the carter five up!

(royce da 5’9) “hey crook!.. i don’t think theres a carter v”

(crooked i) “i don’t know my bad i mean the carter iv”

i paint any town red, that’s the art of war
i bust you in any city; cuz’ i’m on a tour
i tax you; i’m not an auditor either or
but i’m at you — it ain’t no better mobsters
we a mix between tyra banks and energy drinks
four-headed monster!, hold on

out on them streets i put my life on the line
between them sheets i put my life in them lines
crooked’s c recitin’ these rhymes, givin’ sight to the blind
i’n the dark my recital will shine light in your mind
like god cypher the fine, ima fight for my kind
n-ggas surviving the grind, with a sniper designed
rifle aligned, rifle your mind i targeted a man
i was thuggin before i became a marketing plan
cover my heart with my hand and i vow to keep real
can not part to j-pan, target the hearts of the fans
like the archer is part of my plan
man, my loved ones who restin’ in peace

“yo, my homie pac guage? died yesterday, i’m dedicatin’
my performance to him.. nah mean. pac guage
i love you, ya kept it 100 with me your whole life
my love ones restin’ in peace!”

they couldn’t peek at the peak i was destined to reach
through expressing a speech
i’m the essence of each o.g. before me
they gave me lessons to teach
i’m pablo, you can’t measure the reach
cop-ho, f-ck gestapo, arrest the police
death to the beast
a renegade menace, n-ggas witness the birth
every listener’s a prisoner, till i finish the verse
every minute i’m spittin, you sittin’ in a ministers church
these n-ggas is b-tches, i’m militant, i’m liftin’ ya skirt
society hate me, f-ck em’, all hope is lost
to p-ss ’em off, i do what you call “over-floss”
that’s the reason my benz got all chrome exhaust
they hate a welfare kid who’s a cigar-smokin’ boss
i’m crazy! put me on a therapist couch
i’ve seen stomach shots leave a n-gga wearin’ a pouch
i’ve seen people’s parents parish for careless amounts
so what’s the starin’ and the swearin’ about?
this unfair character ‘ll stick his derringer
square in ya arrogant mouth
i’m darin’ ya, you apparently doubt
that i will merrily bury you, without care when the sheriffs is out
and go that devout terrorist route
you box, i shoot glocks, we just don’t compare in a bout
a boss baller, airin em out, shot caller
crooked i, you know i’m wearing cartier in a drought
we broadcasted live from ghetto america’s house
where the police get a paid vacation for kickin’ n-ggas -ss
now my homie see the cop and let the trigger blast
there’s so much pain in a n-gga’s past
but i’m bout to eat til i’m sick of cash
me and my nillaz finna mash for real, til we open them doors
and welcome to our house is in your stoors, go get it!

(joell ortiz) “make some motha f-ckin’ noise for that n-gga crooked i man..
that n-ggas a mother f-ckin’ machine man.”

(royce da 5’9) “f-ck you crooked i! i’m tired of him being better then everybody”

- crooked i lyrics

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