The Boss

Lyrics

[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 Niggas need to check my files, man I came in as a baby -- '95, nigga Had breast milk on my breath [Verse 1] A lotta niggas 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 niggas 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 -- niggas is soft You niggas 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 niggas, 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 nigga 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 nigga, this is my anthem Crooked been shining like the rims on the Magnum [Outro] Yeah! Boss, nigga Y'all niggas 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