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Hip Hop Weekly 52 - The Finale
Im in a ruthless coupe because I took the top out
Convertible v12 I call it pullin my 12th grade drop out
Ridin through the City Of Compton like BG Knocc Out
Thinkin how Eazy made a label all from a rock house
Glock and a (***) above the Johnson
I know bloods from Bompton, I know cuz from Compton
Speakers bumpin that Soulja Slim
Seats cobra skin
And Im on some slow motion rims
There he goes again, the westcoast is him
The 52-week-in-a-row-flow, dont pretend
you dont KNOW
I know N.O., it spells no
but N.O. means New Orleans
I creep low with the Nina
Motherfuck FEMA, thats for Katrina
Now tell me have you seen a
Meaner Underground King Ridin Dirty
my .45 keep my rivals nervy
In the hood its a 9 to 5 just tryna survive the 30
Get a 9 and a wise attorney
Yes dude I advice ya
When it comes to heaters keep a couple stashed
I try to be positive but Im a prisoner of my troubled past
And for me to keep my freedom is to double cash
that and skeet on a bubble ass
I keep my knuckles brassed
I been on one since my uncle passed
Its bosses first and suckas last
You might see the tears under masked
I got a conscience but my guns'll blast
On ya buster ass
As we proceed
Its the coke flow soon as you snort it your nose bleed
Me stop rappin its no need
cant stop bussin like Keanu Reeves
when the nigga was on Speed
Fully arm open fire and your dome bleed
with my arms wide open indeed but Im no Creed
I dont believe you niggas but Im so G'd
I can getcha touched for no cheese like ho please
Im so notorious I should know Cease
Dont breathe in the beef
you sneeze Im gon squeeze
ducktape your spouse mouth
put your seeds on (knees)
All they saw was Dodger hats and white Pro T's
Me and these beats are a good mix
these are ghetto tales like ass on hood chicks
Like em when they pure bred or they look mixed
Like em when they push whips and got good tits
See Im freaky like Tah
And Im down for the menage a tweezy
Ma treat me like ahhh
All I got is hard cock and a glock
Thanks for the stress relieve is hard knock on the block
Im from East Long Beach where no one pretend it
Thank god for your life cause a chrome gun can end it
Thinkin we wont shoot you in both lungs
Your wrong as a best rappers list with no Pun intended
Cause dude had stupid flow
Most you rappers cant walk at your Bazooka Joe
I was a snotnose listening to Superho
with my brother Jerkin a 4
cruisin slow
Now its '08 Crooked I cock the glock
lick shots thats for Scott La Rock
*** pop the top
on the Hennessey and let some drop on the block
for all the legends we have not forgot
Cause I hate it when you bitch ass rappers dont pay homage
for those who paved the way
you could be slayed today
shame on a nigga for tryin to run game on a nigga
no love or fame on a nigga
Fuck a whole song I can tell before verse 2
You in it for the money lack the skills and your first clue
I will merk you
Even when the tempo switch up I just switch it up in the verse too
I think Im harder than the bottom of a church shoe
keep a Desert Eagle cause I know it gotta burst few
Ask Brooklyn the place Dirt McGirt blew
They'll tell you I go in like I got a curfew
Im writing lyrical bibles nigga Ill learn you
like i'm at the pool pit, and you sittin in the first pew
Do I get busy or what?
Im in the booth tipsy dizzy as fuck
My cousin Saucy rollin a big L lean mixed in his cup
He took a sip and start givin it up
This is COB
different from you is my whole team
No lowriders just Harley Davidson Road Kings
Khakis and chucks that was our old thing
Now its Prada sneakers, designer jeans, and mo bling
Flamboyant you cant toy with
that boy stay on point Im that poignant
to a snitch Im rat poison
mad noise get
killed with mad joy
Thats on some fatboy shit
Cause I never seen a human beat a box
Put em in a coffin as soon as the heater pops
Sorry Im so violent maybe I need a pops
My father figures kept nine millimeter glocks
straight killas gangbangers and weightdealers
paid niggas since Micheal Jackson made Thriller
And all I wanna do is make a (break iller)
Something I had in common with J Dilla
I grew up in the hood where they fight everyday
better be good with your hands like a faith healer
(A will I)
ever make it out
my city's a slum village
they kill over crumbs
us Attila The Huns pillage
yes, blessed to hear one of the realest
yes, I pen sentences
while a nigga dodge pen-sentences
treat you like an apprentice and show you what the business is
Creep with me
as we crawl through the hood
we was all on Tha Row me, Spider, Eastwood
and my homegirl Left Eye
why do the best die
same question I asked Bed-Stuy
thats my homegirl
prolific female spitter
I grazed the coved of XXL with her
never shall forget her
kinda felt bitter
the way the media did her
but thats another song
Left Eye gone, Tupac gone, when Crooked I die dont cry carry on
100K cashier check in my carry on
Tell em I lived my life poppin that Dom Pérignon
On the run like Marion Jones
I carry chrome
cops want me in the cell till Im older than Larry Holmes
niggas lookin like Larry Holmes flabby and sick
that was my shit damn near had me crashin my whip
picture me rollin
still limpin like a pimp when he strollin
still lyrics sicker than the shit in your colons
still gutter like Obama when the nigga was bowling
hand on a nine like an hour before 10 in the morning
put an intentional hole in your dome
wicked as a non-fictional omen
nigga this is you warning
dont make my chrome thing blow you away
it ain't nothing for me to go and lay low in the bay
get scooped by my down ass ho in the yay
Mac Dre t-shirt jeans by Christian Audigier
you can tell I'm fresh from far away
bad ass MILF got a daughter in junior high
she's 30-something but you cant tell from the human eye
she tell me I'm superfly
I tell her since I'm dressed to kill
if I look in the mirror its suicide
who am I to decide if you should try suicide or not
crucify by glock
to survive my block
it was stupid fire
used to ride a lot
driveby shooters light the spot
human life's can stop
you and I can drop
its do or die lueders get the ruger pipes to pop
I'm tryna find some nirvana
deal with a lot of trauma
if you think I'm crazy blame it on Cali drama
know I need to seek peace like the Dalai Lama
but I'm around more thieves than Ali Baba
Mama didn't teach young Crooked how to talk this way
big guns in my waste thats why I walk this way
and I'm lost today
cause I know homicide cost to JMJ in an awful way
playing Jason Mizell while I'm chasing tizzails
in shizzelltoe Adidas no laces aswell
I don't want his killers taking places in jail
Nah, rather see them haters faces in hell
I'm raising hell like J in '86
C.O.B. is my religion so I'm no atheist
but I use beats and rhymes to make crazy hits
are you crazy bitch
I ain't lazy I'm 52 weeks deep
did it for my people they ain't pay me ish
niggas angry money cant change me
pussy ass rappers yeah you make me sick
bitches chase me niggas wanna waste me mace me
let the .380 rip
test me I dare ya
if you ain't too proud to beg for your life I might spare ya
Ill tear ya limb from limb
and make clothes outta your skin
I'm sick enough to wear ya
there you go
back to the mack and the pimp in the black Cadillac (and the limp in)
Shaq's in the back and its packed full of women
attractive with racks and the backs you could swim in
I tell the hoes you a prophet or a profit
since you cant tell the future put the profit it my pocket
one tried to play me came up shorter than a hobbit
baby put the brakes on ya high heels and stop it
when I come up you go down down down
treat me like Mausberg and pound pound pound
Me and DJ Skee
we both get around
when we walk in the club they break it down to the ground

Week 52
I'm being all that I can be
grew up in the hood poverty was all that I could see
how could someone possibly
block a dream of stopping me
I could lose it all and never fall in mediocrity
rolling on them blocks
and I see a whole lot of me's
gotta keep it gangsta for life no apologies

*talking about proof and shit*

I'm the feeling you get
when you deeply think of dying
I'm as real as it get
my pain leave the speakers crying
keep an eye on my feet just peep the science
you think I'm lying
when you think of me think of Zion lions and sleeping giants
think of petrified MC's quietly creeping by em
think of a G eating beats to keep me from squeezing irons
think of the publicity my series got
without spending bread think about it
hiphop is not dead

There it is, Im sure its got some mistakes in there, shit between () I cant really make out... (***) I cant come close

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