[Intro: Crooked I]

(New shit)
Yeah
What up my n***as
Uh, uh, uh yeah, uh, uh gangsta
Uh, uh, uh yeah, uh, uh gangsta
(I always wanted to do that)
Ladies and gentlemen
(Uh, uh, uh, yeah, uh, uh, gangsta)
Right about now
(Uh, uh, uh, yeah, uh, uh, gangsta)
I'd like to introduce to you...
Crooked I
(Uh, uh, uh, yeah, uh, uh, gangsta)
Mannie Fresh, this shit hot, n***a
(Uh, uh, uh, yeah, uh, uh, gangsta)
It's ya boy, Crooked (Woo)

[Verse 1]
Crooked'll take off on ya quicker than Bum Fights
Shove a knife in ya young lung pipes
The Desert Eagle will eat you in one bite
It don't have to become night
We can have a gun fight in the sunlight
I'm livin' like I got more than one life
Drinkin' Hpnotiq till it induce one hell of a vomit
Pop shit, my guns blaze like the tail of a comet
Ghetto ebonics, yellow rocks settled in onyx
I squeeze metal, you'll never be on my level, I promise
Straight blast, n***as get knocked off their Kawasaki
The inventors of brake pads couldn't figure out how to stop me
I slide up on you and sock you like we was playing hockey
A troubled child, even Gaddafi wouldn't adopt me
I'm rockin' XL Magnums ain't the only reason I'm cocky
Bomb ya squad like Hank Shocklee, n***as can't stop me
When I'm rappin, major shit is about to happen
Like when an automatic MAC-10 is clappin' a police captain
Ease back then, I'm just tryin' to be rich
Do what you gotta do, my n***a
This dynasty, bitch!
[Chorus]
It's dynasty for life
My n***as is trife
We deep in the game
The west ain't the same
It's dynasty for life
My n***as is trife (Dynasty)
We pushin' the line
Gotta stay on the grind
It's dynasty for life (Yeah)
My n***as is trife (Yeah)
We deep in the game
The west ain't the same
It's dynasty for life (Mama's Boy)
My n***as is trife (The LP, n***a)
We pushin' the line
Gotta stay on the grind (C'mon)
It's dynasty for life

[Verse 2]
Yeah
We rock white T-shirts with Glocks under
Do not slumber, we take your watch from ya
The barrel of this Glock will pop thunder
How we get away with the murder, that's what the cops wonder
Speedin' bullets travelin' in them upper mach numbers
A long hot summer, the number one stunna
In a hot, hot, hummer
Run away from this gunner
The type of n***a that keep his chips official
Hollow tips rip your middle
Quick to twist your gristle
Wounds the size of a nickel
Making your physical whistle
Pack my pistol like an anti-ballistic missile
Fa shizzle
What ya punk ass expect?
I'm tryin' to uppercut you hard enough to giraffe your neck
I'm tryin' to beat you to a pulp before you grab your TEC
N***as give me upset props, I mean mad respect
I mean mad respect