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Mixtape* Young Boss Vol.2
[Image: F494f33ee8c2ed.jpg]

Artist: Crooked I
Album: Young Boss Vol.2
Song: All I Ever Wanted

Fuck Being The King, I'm The Boss of The West

(All I ever wanted) All I ever wanted
(Was the freedom to refuse) Was My freedom
(Of something of my own to love enough) I love this game man
(You hate to lose) I can't lose
(Feel it in my brain) It's crazy man
(It's leaving smoke behind my eyes) I hate to talk about these suckers
(When a part of me that wants to change) I want to change
(Fights the part of me that tries) But I gotta talk about you lames

Peep Game (Yea)

[Verse 1]
Knock, Knock here we go again, It's Crooked I homie let me in
Fuck 5 mics give me ten, I'm Rembrandt with an ink pen
A lot of Niggaz represent the West, Sittin on the throne is the quest
I don't give a Fuck who the best, Even though I'm better than the rest
What I just said is so real, We can bet a set of chrome wheels
If gettin' dough was based on skills, Niggaz couldn't pay they phone bill
Rap Game, Damn shame, Fuck it ima pop champagne
Keep a Cuban hangin out my mouth, I know you seen the ad campaign
Tell the truth, Y'all Niggaz Lame, Not the kind of lame with a cane
Kind of Nigga lame in the brain, that's why I'm changing the game
Gang Bangin' was in eighty-nine, Now we on some organized crime
Hip-Hop Cops on the grind nevermind them last couple lines
Close homboys might switch, Best friend put you in a ditch
Fuck a snitch, Fuck a Bitch I just wanna see my Niggaz rich
Happiness with God and ya life, a couple drop tops and a wife
Fuck gettin' shot in a fight, Gotta keep a glock in ya sight
That's the way it is in the streets, Niggaz never wanna see you good
That's Coach leather on the seats, That's cherry grain on the wood

Yea, But We giving back to the hood
Gotta give back to the hood
You know? Somebody gotta do it
Cuz you suckers ain't come back in a long time man
Every time you come through here, fifty thousand police withchu
Cant even walk around your own people
And then you wanna block me from getting in the game
You Niggaz lame
Try not to talk about you suckers
But I can't change...I got to..

[Verse 2]
Yea, Yea Nigga What now? Years later still in the game
Underground for a long while, 100 carats still in the chain
Cuz the flow's ill, and he's so real and his hoes feeling his pain
Doing dope dealings and show skrill or we don't steal and entertain
Everything I do is legit, Pull me over off our shit
You can search a Nigga till he's sick, Yea, Cop eat a fat dick
Rappers slug gettin mailed, can't put a boomerang in jail
Throw me in imma come back out, Why Nigga, I post bail
Then it's right back on the block, with a baby mac and a glock
When you're trapped and you need to hear real rap and what happened to Pac
These Niggaz rappin is gay, I don't care what mad Niggaz say, Chris told
yall, you was wick-wick-wack way back in the day
I kick back with a six-pack, then a Nigga gotta laugh at the way, You kick
raps cuz the simple fact, come at me and your ass finda pay
Crooked I or Young Boss, Y'all know my motherfucking name
Wont stop till im on top, hottest young Nigga in the game
C dot , O dot, P dot We Hot squeeze glocks, three shots, leave a Nigga on
the street top Beeyotch

(All I ever wanted) Yea
(Was the freedom to refuse) All I ever wanted was my freedom
(Of something of my own to love enough) And now I got something that I love
(You hate to lose) I love this game man
(Feel it in my brain) I can't lose, I won't lose
(It's leaving smoke behind my eyes) Listen
(When a part of me that wants to change) C.O.B.
(Fights the part of me that tries)

Artist: Crooked I
Album:  Young Boss Vol. 2
Song:  Creased Khaki Flow

Yeah... you wanna know what this is my nigga
(The creased khaki flow)
The creased khaki flow ykno what I'm talking about, that gangsta shit, what
else (the white tee spit)
Yeah, I'm talking about a whole motherfuckin can of starch nigga
(the creased khaki flow)
And one crease comin down the middle of a white t-shirt yeah
(the white tee spit)

[Verse 1]
Crooked I's cold-blooded like I gotta Rick James degree
I'm so rugged, switch lanes with me
I'm so thuggish, ho's love it, flip change, live dangerously
Only lames spit game for free
You damn right this man writes his raps like his life's in a crisis
And I'm twice as sick as Ms. Anne Rice is
I stand right up squeezin the mic lifeless
You might like my concise preciseness... like this
Cats came in the rap game and claimin they crack slangin, the gat aimin
In fact, they act just like Matt Damon
Homie my gat'll slay men
You cats say when and... blaow
I roll up on your block then I blast
Cops finna ask who shot you while you rockin an oxygen mask
I hit the gas in the drop finna smash to the spot
Got my glock locked in the stash spot in the dash
My six cruise on big shoes
I'm a lit fuse with sick views
I got issues, I misuse... pistols
Say we in combat, I spazmatic like a crazy Vietnam cat

Yeah, crease your motherfuckin khakiz up
Juice the batteries in your low-rider caddies up
Chuck Taylors, white tees, slang cavy what
These streets made me a trigger-happy nut
Yeah, crease your motherfuckin khakiz up
Juice the batteries in your low-rider caddies up (C.O.B.)
White tees, Chuck Taylors, slang cavy what
These streets made me a trigger-happy nut (Prrt Prrt)

[Verse 2]
Yeah, it's young Crooked
Yeah you had a leg but my pump took it
Now you hip-hop cuz you one-footed
I lick shots, drop, here comes bullets
I leave scenes sick as Hitchcock
News won't even run footage (tell em)
I come hooded jus like a grim...reaper
Slim... keeper, 9 double m heater
Creepin in tha streets, deep in the seats of tha jeep
Beatin new releases through 10 speakers
It gets deeper
I'm bringin that long beach feeling back
See me on tha Eastside where all of them killers at
But my enemies don't wear raiders, saints, or even a steelers hat
They wear a badge... how real is that?
No matter what, ghetto life is still in my veins
If you poverty-living, I know you feelin my pain
I'm still sick in the brain, skill spit with such meticulous game
Shoot ridiculous like Nicholas Van Exel
Guess who's sexing your step-daughters
A nigga who can draw glocks better than sketch-artists
When I walk in the club, hug your hoe
Hustlers know, I'm nut-so with the thugsta flow
Everything's open, nothing is closed
Magazine's throwing me on them fuckin covers to pose
Look at young papi, cocky, never sold one copy
Gun cocked rocky, please come stop me
So and so is cool, what's his name is aight
Homeboy is okay, but Crooked I is TIGHT!
That's what's heard, that's my word, act absurd
You cats get served cuz I rap disturbed
I'm closing doors with the quickness
I'm in the Pocanos poking hoes hoping you don't poke your nose in my business haters
I'm scopin those from a distance
Relentless foes get a broken nose for persistence
Absolutely, cats bringin gats to shoot me
I even watch all them rats actin goofy
Disguised as groupies, that's a doozy
What's that bulge under your shirt?
That's a uzi... excuse me

Yeah, crease your motherfuckin khakiz up
Juice the batteries in your low-rider caddies up (Juice Em)
Chuck Taylors, white tees, slang cavy what (dress code)
These streets made me a trigger-happy nut (prrt prrt)
Yeah, crease your motherfuckin khakiz up
Juice the batteries in your low-rider caddies up (Juice Em Up)
White tees, Chuck Taylors, slang cavy what (what)
These streets made me a trigger-happy nut (Prrt)

Yeah! Long Beach is back, I told y'all niggaz man
I'm comin down Atlantic Ave.
letting my paint drip on the motherfuckin street '61 rag
ay style, we gonna get this money and buy the Queen Mary 5-6-2
I told y'all
Long Beach is ba-a-a-a-a-ACK! nigga! gyeah!
Creased Khaki Flow...The White Tee Spit
Jim Gittum...Crooked I
C.O.B. til we di-i-ie


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