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thank god for that white - crooked i lyrics

[intro]
hip hop weekly
d-mn man, i know it’s late
just got off the plane from nyc man
some lunatic tried to blow up an army recruiting center next to my hotel in times square
d-mn, i got to make it to fifty-two
watch them bombs b-tch
hip hop weekly
yeah, we back baby
on this primo track, what up primo?
got a chance to chop it with my dude real quick
at the bun b party in new york
bun, what’s poppin’?
yeah, c.o.b., squalor

[verse 1]
i won’t stop ’til i’m the best breathing in the west region
asthmatic chest weezing, that’s what i’m sicker than
pistol jammed, kept squeezing cause i don’t give a d-mn
blow you into next season, i’m the trigger man
click four-fours, hit a big score or
a lincoln, what the f-ck i want a ’64 for?
when i could buy a sick four door six
and if i need to fit more whores add six more doors
you in the mental corridors of a psycho
heavy stress, my mind needs psychological lypo
still i rock videos with ice on
i’ma move numbers soon as i touch the screen like a iphone
pick your battle, love it when niggas babble
a boss nigga draw quicker than kids’ scribble scrabble
eat concrete, nibble gravel
niggas travel up shit creek and i’ma let you pick a paddle
same horse, different saddle, got my nines loaded
shoot you in every one of your pressure points blindfolded
then make diamonds you rhinestoned it
think you won’t die over fake fugaze, don’t bet your life on it
my childhood was the harshest of severity
sent me through a catharsis, a moment of clarity
and through the darkness opponents wanted to bury me
soon as they start shit my chrome is unloading merrily
what do i think of the industry? think it’s a f-g fest
rappers wearing they boxers backwards for easy access
how you think he got on, he ain’t that fresh
soon as the rapper die, bury him in a black dress
no style better than the one i’m choosing
why switch when i’m k!lling with the gun i’m using
why give a f-ck about your one-eyed views when
if you used two you’d never see this young guy losing
and i don’t give a f-ck where you hang at, bang at
slang crack if you can’t rap, nigga you straight wack
why i gotta act like we got the same sk!ll level cause you got a plaque
when this is not a fact
if you think i’m talking to you, nigga holla back
so the barrel of my .380 can holler “braapp”
i’m a problem like u.s. health care
in the blue sl hollering “new west, hell yeah”
i do it two xl in jewels i knew welfare
too well so staying too fresh felt fair
nigga please i’ma talk reckless
fifty gs if you talk necklace
b-tches squeeze on a boss guest list
pitching weed all across texas
enemies, this is ya’ll’s death wish, yes
boss nigga, carats in the earrings
so big i literally can hear bling
and the sound so loud it’s ear piercing
chrome ringer in the waist, i don’t fear a thing
c.o.b. until my soul touch the sky
i don’t think you could f-ck with i

[outro]
hustlers, yeah
hip hop weekly my niggas
fresh from new yitty
back on my coast, dodger blue city
long beach, eastside, crooked i
rest in peace to jmj, yeah
thank god for that green
we left the white alone

- crooked i lyrics

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