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crooked i - u shoulda made a phone call lyrics

{-sample plays in background-}
“how much longer, must we share this masquerade?
you don’t knowwww, it’s just a silly little game we play, ohhh”

[intro: crooked i]
yeah, it’s summertime in cali-for-nia, ha ha
i’m sendin a piece of cali to all my real n-ggas across the world
my d n-ggas, nickel! vish’, kino
mike b, who but me?
my n-ggas in jerz, jumpoff, yeah
my n-ggas in brooklyn, ortiz in the booth holla
it’s a piece of cali, summertime huh

[verse 1]
yo eastside up, westside up
northside up, southside up
lookin like i’m in a u.f.o. when i ride up
low tires, chrome wires, big pipes fired up (yeah)
i’m on the west coast, home of the kush smoke
walkin with a cold diddy-bop like my foot broke
where the b-tches got a bad mouth and good throat
we slang weed but we ball like we push c0ke
you upset seven days, you mad week/weak
i get more -ss than the taxi – the back seat
i slap the -ss of a bad freak
and make a palm reader read my future from the print i left on her -ss cheek
if it’s sunset i got a dozen whips behind me
if it’s beef i got a hundred bloods and crips behind me
soon as i’m miked up it’s live coverage of the right subject
me livin my life like f-ck yeah!

[hook: k-young]
when we rollin, always smokin
f-ck ya momma, f-ck ya hoes and
you ain’t get at me when i want
my n-ggas tie up bandannas and sneak up on ya
like ayy-ay-ay, do or die
this is a no-fly zone, call it a suicide
you shoulda made a phone call
you woulda been alright, alright

[verse 2]
we used to ride impalas, now we pushin in the benz
with the lorenzo kit, and the three-piece rims
my be in roscoe’s, might be at eminem’s
this eastside l.b.c., my n-gga
this pigface weapon waist, let me set the record straight
sceond-rate rappers, your neck and head finna separate
gettin neck and head, naked s-xin on the second date
eatin eggs and steak, while a fella h-lla celebrate (yeah!)
this is gangland, sh-t is outstandin
my n-ggas knock yo’ -ss out, without standin
from a wheelchair, uppercut you in the motherf-ckin air
you a athiest, you never had a prayer
slaughterhouse player, you already know though
a pig is our logo, but we ain’t the po-po
c.o.b. is my religion, let the pope know
cali is a no-fly zone, pick up the phone bro

[hook]

[crooked i]
why ya wanna… gangsta hate on c, o, b?
hat pulled low, you know me
like a 10-k brick of yay a n-gga low-key
i be, in the back of the club, i’m in the v.i.p
i’m mackin a sl-t, let me see some id
naw i don’t do the roman polanski
one thing a b-tch’ll never see (what?) my house key
… ay, ay – b-tches call me dream
and say dominick rule everything around me
i got love for my hipsters and emo’s
this is g though, this is deebo
this is street soul, f-ck the rico
hot as gonorrhea urine in your pee-hole
from here to indonesia
i rep the two fingers twisted between your pinkie and trigger squeezers

[hook]

[outro: sauce the boss]
yeah n-gga, you know what it is
you heard it from the boss’ mouth
this is c-motherf-ckin-o-bosses
and i’m sauce the boss, the prime minister of watts n-gga
and this is a no-fly zone, you get it?
n-gga this a no-fly zone

- crooked i lyrics

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