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Crooked I - The Boss
Artist: Crooked I
Song: The Boss
Appears on: St. Valentines Day Bossacre

Intro: (Crooked I)

They say Boss
They say Crooked, if it’s Boss, you gotta ride on that shit (just lay back)
Niggas need to check my files man
I came in as a baby, ‘95 nigga, had breast milk on my breath haha

Verse 1: (Crooked I)

A lotta niggas never wore gold, till they went gold
Never rocked platinum, till they went platinum
Never got caught with a .45 Magnum
Until the cops pulled over they Tour Bus and bagged ‘em
Crooked been a Gangster, bang, bang lamas
Lotta niggas like to say it’ll eat you like Jeffrey Dahma
But I’ma say it’ll eat you like it was part of the Dona
Party, do your research then you can holla
You can ask my Momma, see what she gone tell ya
I was shootin’ pistols; she was bangin’ Mahalia – Jackson
Treat it like a class then I failure
If you fail the plan, you plan to fail, you a failure
Lotta MC’s like to say they flippin’ birds
Do you mean a middle finger or did you pigeon sur 
Wasn’t cookin’ in the kitchen, shit is just absurd
I’m servin’ different verbs and nouns, shit I’m flippin’ words
Drive by shooter, naw, I never kill cats
Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, can you feel that?
Heard about your house and your car, now where your skills at?
Real mothafuckin’ MC, Crooked is still that
Tired of you phony ass rappers pissin’ me off
I’m feelin’ like I’m Tiger Woods playin’ Miniature Golf
You ain't menaces, you sensitive niggas is soft
You niggas innocent, now witness a militant Boss
Lyrical God; they compare Jay Hova to me 
Poly Theism, you ain't gotta change over to me
We both gods even tho Jay’s older than me
See he was GS-300, Range Rover was me
Around the time that my dude dropped Reasonable Doubt
I filled the Truck up with weed as I was leavin’ the house
Headed toward any small City seein’ a drought
Had to show them different towns what Cali weed was about

Verse 2: (Crooked I)

I know you never wore gold, before you went gold
Never had platinum, before you went platinum
Before Tupac made Cali Love a anthem
I was gettin’ Cali Love fuckin’ hoes at random
In Harrisburg, Pennsylvania I was gettin’ add on
3-33 Calca yea, that’s where we had ‘em 
Livin’ on the Eastcoast, I was only 16
Big bro in the 6-4 with the imph beam
All of my Philly niggas, yea they had sick schemes
It’s only right that I put ‘em in my 16’s
Homie slangin’ to escape the hard livin’
Had a gift for sellin’ crack, can't say that it’s god given
Lotta clientele, think one of ‘em Todd Bridges
1st and 15th screamin’ Money, Cars, Bitches
All the G’s said, Young Crooked die snitches
Think about your money, yup, that’s Boss business
Everything they told me, me and the homies echo
This is dedicated to bad chicks on me webbos
The ones that want me follow the rant by Joey Greco from Cheaters
They scared to call, they know I let go a heaters
Shoot up the Camera crew
Hoes get in my way, they get the hammer too
Get it poppin’ like Shaft will do
Have a few scattered cadavers splatter the avenue
Haven’t you, heard that I spit on street beats
Since I was a lil nigga watch it spit on Beat Street
Don’t know skills, put my shit on repeat
Still don’t know put my shit on each week
I’m rhymin’ for respect
Still feelin’ like a Vegas dealer in the club, got diamonds on deck
Jokers get a blade, cut your heart with a spade
This is C.O.B., when? Till I D-I-E, oh

Outro: (Crooked I)

Never had gold, till you went gold
Never rocked platinum, till you went platinum
Fuck a freestyle my nigga, this is my anthem
Crooked been shinin’ like the rims on the Magnum hahaha

Yeah, Boss nigga, ya niggas better check them mothafuckin’ files
All you Hollywood ass suckers ha
C.O.B., Circle Of Bosses, Cash Over Bitches, Crip Or Blood
Controllin’ Our Block, Conductin’ Organized Business

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