[Intro]
They say boss; They say, "Crooked, if it's boss, you gotta ride on that shit"
Let's lay back, though -- let's lay back
N***as need to check my files, man
I came in as a baby -- '95, n***a
Had breast milk on my breath

[Verse 1]
A lotta n***as never wore gold
Til they went gold
Never rocked platinum
Til 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 llamas
Lotta n***as like to say it'll eat you like Jeffrey Dahmer
But I'mma say it'll eat you like you was part of the Donner Party
Do your research, then you can holler
You can ask my momma
See what she gon' tell ya
I was shooting pistols, she was banging Mahalia
Jackson -- treat it like a class, then I fail ya
If you fail to plan, you plan to fail -- you a failure
Lotta emcees like to say they're flipping birds
Do you mean a middle finger, or did you pitch and serve?
Wasn't cooking in the kitchen; shit is just absurd
I'm serving different verbs and nouns -- shit, I'm flipping words
Drive-by shooter? Nah, 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 motherfucking emcee, Crooked is still that
Tired of you phony-ass rappers pissing me off
I'm feeling like I'm Tiger Woods playing miniature golf
You ain't menaces, you sensitive -- n***as is soft
You n***as innocent; now witness a militant boss
Lyrical god, they comparing Jay-Hova to me
Polytheism, you ain't gotta change over to me
We both gods even though Jay's older than me
See, he was GS-300 -- Ranger Rover was me
Around the time that my dude dropped Reasonable Doubt
I filled the truck up with weed as I was leaving the house
Headed toward any small city seeing a drought
Had to show them different towns what Cali weed was about
[Verse 2]
I know you never wore gold
Before you went gold
Never had platinum
Before you went platinum
Before 2Pac made "Cali Love" a anthem
I was getting Cali love, fucking hoes at random
In Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, I was getting at 'em
333 Kelker, yeah, that's where we had 'em
Living on the East Coast, I was only 16
Big bro in the six-fo' with the imph beam
All of my Philly n***as, yeah they had sick schemes
It's only right that I put 'em in my sixteens
Homie slinging to escape the hard living
Had a gift for selling crack -- can't say that it's God-given
Lot of clientele, think one of 'em Todd Bridges
First and fifteenth, screaming, "Money, cars, bitches"
All the G's say, "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 Miwebo's
The ones that want me followed around by Joey Greco from Cheaters
They scared to call, they know I let go of heaters
Shoot up the camera crew
Hoes get in my way, they get the hammer too
Get it popping like Shabba Doo
Have a few scattered cadavers splatter the avenue
Haven't you heard that I spit on street beats
Since I was a little n***a watching 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 rhyming for respect
Still feeling 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? Til I D-I-E, oh
Never had gold til you went gold
Never rocked platinum til you went platinum
Fuck a freestyle my n***a, this is my anthem
Crooked been shining like the rims on the Magnum
[Outro]
Yeah! Boss, n***a
Y'all n***as better check the motherfucking files
All you Hollywood-ass suckers
C.O.B., Circle of Bosses, Cash Over Bitches
Crip Or Blood, Controlling Our Block
Conducting Organized Business