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crooked i – dynasty lyrics

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[verse 1: crooked i]

they say they sick of hearing crooked i week after week
yet still they listen to every word that i speak
they know that crooked is terminally ill with the speech
mayweather with the defense, holyfield with the reach
muhammad with the speed, i’m lennox with the jab
a young tyson with power, a menace and a half
and i’m kobe with the dribble when i scribble in the pad
my lyricism’s infamous, my sentences are mad
please don’t compare us, our differences are sad
a benz isn’t a jag, i’m a maybach, don’t play that
i’m vicious with the mag, pistols sizzle in your -ss
i’m a gravedigger like my n-gg- rza in the past
since word is born i vasectomize tongues
i got n-gg-s doing cardio when i exercise guns
if you petrified, run, better jet when i come
i only leave the evidence detectives might shun
like what? like none, i vandalize regions
but i keep my hands clean, sanitized even
it’s rap or die season
the best rappers ain’t alive so -n-lyze me then
cannon size heaters in the dash
nine millimeters in the stash
chuck taylor sneakers in the maz’
’bout to put your peoples in the past
see you snakes creeping in my gr-ss
i greet ’em with a blast, i leave ’em in the trash
i mix ’em up, drink ’em in a gl-ss
meat cleaver in my grasp swinging at your -ss
my childhood was f-cked up that’s why i hope my future ain’t
you ever starve ’til you start to hallucinate
dreaming about last week’s food you ate, skinny losing weight
so hungry you can’t hold your uzi straight
so please hand over your lucci cake
’cause this dude would truly hate
to chop you up and put you on a sushi plate
excruciating pain
i need therapy, my mind’s traumatized
for 99% of my rhymes i apologize
i graduated from the school of lyrical homicide
got my rakim degree, i’m him modernized
in the belly of leviathan i’m where the bottom lies
where the rest of the ghetto was swallowed then colonized
only thought in my mind on repeat is that i’m on the rise
put prada shade over mama’s eyes, holler
’cause the flow is hotter than vegas, i’m rocking stages
like i’m jonathan davis, hip hop is hollering dominic save us
a prominent prophet, how could the father forsake us
from the home of mobsters and gangsters, dodgers and lakers
i’m a certified g with the flow
murdering microphones 35 weeks in a row
k!lling them softly all for the love
never get a dime, this is all free
then again the light bill to keep the studio running is high as a b-tch
so this shit cost me