[Intro]
Crooked I, C.O.B
Circle of Bosses
Hip Hop Weekly, number thirty-four

Gotta be a G 'till the day that I die
Ha-ha, man
Mac Capone you still with me?
Shouts out to Italy's finest
Ruby, Nasty Norris
C.O.B. Torano, what it do?
Grime Minister, what's poppin'?
Bilal in Scotland, yo

[Verse 1: Crooked I]
I think I'm 'bout to help you n***as out
And write a This is How You Spit book
Rap for Dummies, money take a quick look
I run shit n***a this big Crook
I lay down the law and order
You don't like it, suck my Dick Wolf
Who is Dick Wolf?
He created Law and Order
So where the pounds at?
Oh they coming across the border
But mic rockin's in my genes
I drop it for my n***as on the block who got a pocket full of dreams
Only want to clock a little cream
Without popping a rocket launcher with the beams
Or getting profit from them schemes
We was taught to slang weed or serve the 'caine
Pack big things, let the burner flame
Make n***as bigger than Ving Rhames dance, do the Rick James
Like you hurricane, we murder mane, no er'thang
I'm from the berserk Circle gang
You ain't heard of pain, cut your vertebrae
Blast out, I'm the first to aim
You'll be ass out like Prince pants in Purple Rain
Blow your back out, bury you out back
Back now that's a dirty shame
Just the way that us thugs live
We been starving since young kids, our stomachs touch ribs
All we wanted was sick whips and to live in plush cribs
Trying to deal with the gutter, my n***as puff puff give
Some n***as [?], others kill a whole bottle in one swig
Under dig you know what it is
And wack n***as make us pull out the pistol and shoot the stereo
You think you sick pussy, cause your flow's too venereal
Every week Crooked dropping new material
A Long Beach n***a pushing a Coupe through Imperial
Yo' chain is platinum, mine is all diamonds
All from raw rhyming, ya'll should call Bryman
Change ya'll's career, fuck off, a boss shinin'
'Posed to be a thug, you soft as Paul Simon
I should be Michael, I'm off the wall grinding
I'm the best shooter so I'm hog the ball Brian
I ain't on the shoulders of no giant
I'm looking out the window of the Lear
The giants see me flying by 'em
I am, the best different strategies I try 'em
Cause if you can't say try you can't say triumph
They though I was dead, thought the West best failed
'Til they see me on the cover of that XXL
What Jay say, let that bitch breathe
If she ain't ride or die, let that bitch breeze
Let her pick up and leave
Have another diva on my arm, call that a trick up my sleeve
Guns might hiccup and sneeze
That toast, love lactose, that's why it's a stick-up for cheese
The evolution of a hustler
I evolved and found a way to supply the ever elusive customer
I strategize new interactive marketing
To pinpoint different parts of the map that I'm targeting
I works harder than fools I'm already smarter than
Crooked killed a cop, go tell the governor pardon him
Pardon me I'm on the fast track
I'm from the 80s where n***as used to keys of crack right in they ass crack
Too much weight on my shoulders, I'm having flashbacks
Too many burdens for this rapper to wear a backpack
Unless it's packed with gloves, mask and a black strap
Lift the mattress up and that's that
I want them rubber band cash stacks
I can imagine what would happen (my n***a brap brap) if you don't pass that
See I'm the last of a different breed
I don't compare myself to nobody else, I'm in a different league
I'm in a limousine crawling like a centipede
Sipping Hennessy while my n***as chief sigga weed
All I think about is what the fuck my n***as need
Need me to rap all night as if this was Christmas Eve
I'm from the Circle of Bosses, the C-O buh-buh B
From here to Oak Cliff they know me as jucka G