Boss Biter

Lyrics

[Intro: Crooked I] Boss Boss Yeah Yeah, haha Couple of haters out there One in particular He's a real bitch Ya heard me? (Ha, ha) [Verse] That nigga's a bitch, why fear holmes I'm bossy like the wife of Mr. Nasir Jones My songs, all I wanna hear in my earphones 'Cause when I turn the radio on, I hear clones (Who?) You bitin' my shit, you gets no love Pac spread that thug shit, along with the Bone thugs I spread that boss shit, you niggas want slugs? I been doin' it since '95, you niggas on drugs Stole from the underground, took it to the mainstream Everything I say, heard that nigga say the same thing When I catch you slippin', I'ma let my pretty thang ring Amputate your pockets like the muthafucka's gangrene I dropped young boss, the west in charge The double XL magazine gave me an extra large It's a classic mixtape, that's what some say Wonder if they know I recorded the shit in one day Ready for action, my pistol poppin' off of gunplay Flyer than any contraption, hoppin' off the runway Hotter than a sun ray, nigga wit a attitude Like I was a young Dre, Crooked is the one, ehhhh You fuck around and my gun spray Married to my Smith & Wesson, that's my Beyonce Even Mathew knows a thug spray steel Turn ya lights out, quicker than an unpaid bill Throw them pipes out in the river like once they kill Circle of Bosses, doin' what the fuck they feel (C.O.B.) Even if it mean a nigga gotta face a bid Gun smokin' more than any emphysema patient did When I'm beefin', tell the preacher he should pray for kids And tell Chief Bratton the streets ain't even safe for pigs (Hell nah) Yeah, my lower self starts thinkin' with it's evil mind Even though my higher self know I can help lead the blind Two sides of me in one body, so we combine (Yeah) Both sides agree, it's logical to keep a nine (Yeah) And creep low like a snake, the pistol's the rattle I Alaska you rappers who be livin' to battle Six months with no sun, mean you live in my shadow Slaughtered for my third meal, nigga, no different from cattle (Oww) East side, Long Beach, I'm goin' hard for my town Sittin' on top of my money, feet far from the ground (Hahaha) But my skill level got me on the march for the crown Shit you pitchin' isn't the business, depart from the mound, now Choppin' you niggas, nah, that ain't hard work Why you think I got the chainsaw on the artwork So I can slice your chest open and watch your heart squirt I'm layin' iron on these marks like a starched shirt (Wah) You muthafuckas ain't pushin' the line right You washed up, now you just a whore for the limelight I can close my eyes and see right through you with my minds sight Killin' phonies when the times right I'm Crooked I, the one your favourite rapper scared to mention 'Cause I'm out of their dimension I'm the heir to the chair, with henchmen Intentions, prepare for vengeance Bitch niggas should wear hair extensions, yeah This is my introduction to the U.S You don't know my name? just address me as the New West [Chorus] It's cash over bitches Never hoes over doe On the smash for my riches Got niggas to overthrow (Yeah) It's some haters on the west coast Some of y'all are cancer (Yeah) New West, let's go Crooked is the answer (Yeah) [Outro] Ya'mean Nik Bean DJ Felli Fel Ha, ha Crooked I, C.O.B Happy Valentine's Day It's the muthafuckin' Bossacre Yeah I mean, we cuttin' niggas hearts out Hahahahaha New West or nothin'