[Intro]
Yeah they ask me why I'm a boss
I grew up in the motherfucking gutter homeboy, nothing
Gang bangers, drug dealers, hoes, prostitutes
Rats, roaches, WIC checks and shit
Ya naw mean
And I came out that shit with a motherfucking fresh white tee on
Necklace shining like neon
Boss shit that's what I be on, let's get it
Hip Hop Weekly n***as, the quit snitchin' addition
Let's go

Yeah, sup G
Sup Toomp
It's the motherfucking quit snitching addition
These n***as got my stomach sick right now
Fucking faggots
King of the south what it do

[Verse 1: Crooked I]
I don't speak around snitches n***a close the door
Why you think they real now when they was hoes before
Man the streets brought the beef, I never chose the war
Semi-automatic weapon that's what those are for
N***as need courage snorting 'til they nose is sore
But my gat making them crank that Soulja Boy
I shot five, I was 0 for 4
Fifth one hit 'em and did 'em
Told you I was known to score
With the Wesson cause I was taught life got a dress on
Hair weave and press-ons, a bitch that's the lesson
Cops pulled me over while I had my other chest on
That's a bullet-proof vest, the pigs didn't catch on
Want to give me fed time for that infrared nine
Put me in a cage, let me age like red wine
Haters after my life, I got to protect mine
Blind hatred for me because my neck shine
Since them coffins are pine I wish a n***a would
Like I murdered a Klansmen I kill you in your hood
Catch you slipping and peel your wig while you feeling good
Keep me off of your head, only a million could
Hard cash, I'm blasting your mark ass
Paint the town red like art class
Lay 'em down dead soon as that car pass
Spray 'em wild lead, duck when you see sparks flash
I don't play around yeah
I know Crips my n***a, I know Bloods
I know mafiosos, I know thugs
My mama sold weed homey, I know drugs
I pushed whips as a kid, I know dubs
I know fake hand shakes and cold hugs
I know tapped phone lines, I know bugs
I know .38 snubs, I know slugs
I know snitching son of a bitches get no love
[Interlude: Crooked I]
Yeah, hold on man
Let me cut the beat off for a minute
Hey, let me holler at these snitch-made motherfuckers right now
There's probably a snitch right next to you right motherfucking now
Ya naw mean, informing in your circle and shit
Shit make me sick to my motherfucking stomach man
That's why C.O.B. is my religion
Yo

[Verse 2: Crooked I]
They got me sick cause they snitching again
Breaking the G code, homey this is a sin
Act like they your friend but these n***as pretend
When I accepted your friendship I pissed in the wind
I broke you off Benjamins and hit you with ends
You broke the loyalty became a witness for them
So I could be sentenced n***as sit in the pen
When my n***as catch you slipping they gon' hit you with ten
My brother Byron send your pictures to him
I want his face mangled, fucked up, missing his chin
I know the system wanted to see me dicked in the end
The game wasn't designed for real n***as to win
Don't want to see a hood n***a triple his gin
Cause in the revolution I point my pistol at them
Want us to entertain 'em but they didn't intend
For real n***as to get rich with millions to spend
So they send a fake n***a to sit in your den
He broke bread with you like this is your kin
Don't think he got your back cause you got similar skin
He black on the outside, Willie Lynch is within
Take a n***a to catch a n***a, they did it again
For you coon n***as I don't got a minute to lend
I ain't trying to say we all some innocent men
But justice for us young ghetto n***as is when
Cops been harassing me since I was ten
Hell of a way for my relationship with pigs to begin
Life is so real catch me sipping this gin
Freestyling about this shit, no pencil or pen
Quit snitchin'