Lyrics:
the M-I-crooked
Just to make 'em peep what I'm cookin', I love Mississippi
I put a studio in my partner kitchen
So by the way I'm whippin you would think I'm
bad for my health
But myself, I stay fuckin' with y'all
Making hit's like my name was John Gotti
Like I got thugs and hired
Goons waiting in the lobby
the Brook-lon, the crack move faster!
(I blowwwwwwwwww!)
Backwoods on the master
Dro' grown in the cold waters of Alaska
(Where I goooooooooo!)
I don't ever fold
and get outlined in chalk by the devil
I rep the borough that mothered this rap shit
I used to clap shit
Now I just lay back and mack on some mack shit
I
And what about you
Whose life did you impact while being black and refusing not to crack
In fact, I got a better question
Who helped bring you to wholeness
Where you from? Oakland, smokin'
We from the Rich, though
The house party go up we used to be like, ""Richmond, smokin'!!""
Said my Granny stayed in
Turn the TV on let's watch a good show
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John
See how the gospel goes
In a getaway car there's lots of bad guys
Jesus Christ
ya, guns out the holster
Can't stay alive even with John Travolta
Now I hope to pull you off the sofa
Cut the TVs pause the CD's, the culture
Is in
Hello, my name is John but if ya piss me off you get hit with a baton *smack* by my alter-ego Mac Automaton. I can’t control him, nobody knows what
niggas will be
Down for the cause?
Some days are made for reminiscing
Drug dealers with no product or
Pot to even piss in
Permission by granted God we see
let em in between I'ma
Rap, Fiend
By any means I can't let em in between I'ma
Uh I'ma rap fiend that is
Black mirror crack screen idea
Covered in
get time in the feds
I'm stunting, Evel Knievel, dirty Sprite by the liter
Let that top down on my Bimmer til' I'm tired of balling like Tila
a profit
You down to break even
I'm really in the clear
You niggas stay leakin
You niggas just ain't eatin
Pick another lane rap game, crack game
You should
crack in their morning break
And the grass grows bluer on the other side
Where the old girls queue for their Mothers Pride
For a slice of life it's
Y'all motherfuckers buckle y'all motherfuckin' seatbelts
If you need to get high there's a mask and shit in the overhead compartment
I can't tell
the alarm
Lord forgive me I'm not perfect like John, cause I'm a sinner
We the high-class niggas in the city, welcome to our arena
Don't call Mayweather cause
sniffed till I'm wired
I'm just saying how I feel cause
This shit got me tired
I'm exhausted, by my street hustle
But it costed
Death that grew around in my
school that ass like St. John's
Some come get a little bit, hit hard like a rock
And open up the door 'cause I'm knocking
Ready or not, here I come in
of the hungriest
Backed by Donald Johns and that's where my money is
[Rampage]
I told y'all six weeks rich don't forget
Another smash hit from my squad don't forget
Yo,
y’all mother fuckers
Wanna keep starting shit
You can’t finish
So I’m bout to drop yo asses
In three and a half minutes
Y’all might be thinking
the ghost John Wick
Oh fuck I'm hard as God, had a sex-o-gasm
When I stuck my carbon rod in your ectoplasm
Now tell me where to throw my nut cause I'm
bitches callin' plays just like John Madden
Get your ass touched right by a savage
I'm movin' a fast car, I be swaggin'
Your bitch wan' come with
to tell a story, oh, baby!
Blood on the walls, street life
America's worst nightmare, ahead by light years
Hip hop's only shining star in the night's
the back
You don't love me, I know you like the record!!! Don't touch me!!!
Niggas stay wack, like crack, in the dutchee
So why try me?
Swift, I sure
-8643.jpg/225px-John_Scofield_(cropped)-8643.jpg "John Scofield")
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