Crooked I - Make Me Better lyrics
[Crooked I - Make Me Better lyrics]
Yeah
Hip-Hop Weekly, COB (COB)
Circle of Bosses, Crooked I
Ow (Treacherous Records, ha ha)
Yeah
Next week we doing some old school shit
Ha ha
I'm still taking requests, hit me on MySpace
Guess what?
I'm Mr hip-Hop Weekly
And fuck all copycats, get guac freely
Yes I embody that, dig hot breezies
Pimping's not easy
Shouts out to Fred Hampton Jr in Chicago
Shouts to Bishop Brigante in Toronto
I'm a mercenary, squeeze it double quattro
Cover your meat with the shells for
The cheese like a taco
I go straight to your crib
If you pushing weight
When you get home I might be
The reason that your bush'll shake
I pop out
My Glock find a place to put your face
White tee bloody as an apron
Around a butcher's waist
Like them baby back joints stacked
On top of each other
Ribs are touching, no stopping a brother
Strip nigga, now go lay on top of your mother
A sick nigga
It was a hobby to rob me a sucker
(yeah)
I'm about to ride around to
Biggie's "Ready to Die" shit
With one of you maggots tied up in the trunk
Now that's some fly shit
My heart dark as the inside of your eyelids
Bitches try to gas me
Crooked I's too hybrid
(ow)
Yeah, I spit like a Long Beach Pharoahe Monch
Keep your eyes on the sparrow
When the double barrel launch
I'm g'd like a character from
Robert De Niro's Bronx
Tale, hell
Tell me why the hell I wear a watch
(huh)
Cause when it come to time
I'm so far ahead of mine
I can tell you ahead of time
You need some better lines
Like eleven times seven, I'm
Seventy-seven times better than
Whoever rhymed
Never mind
Yeah, I ain't gonna even educate
You niggas right now
Crooked I man, gangsta MC, COB
(Circle of Bosses)
Shouts out to my dude LG in Brooklyn (brrap)
Yah mean
Shouts to my dude Dylan Dylinjah (pow, pow)
We made history baby
When you was on Bad Boy and
I was on Death Row
We recorded a song together
First Death Row and Bad Boy
Collabo since all the bullshit
(you know)
You know what I'm talking about (ha ha)
We rode through the streets
Of LA together baby
You know how I do it
Pistols motherfucking up
20s on Benzes (yeah)
COB, Crooked I, yeah
I'm a gangsta MC, gangsta M, gang
I'm a gangsta MC, gangsta M, gang (ow)
I'm a gangsta MC, gangsta M, gang (yeah)
I'm a gangsta MC, gangsta M, gang
I'mma, I'mma, I'mma (ha ha)
Yeah, short and sweet
What's the motto? See you next week
Hip-Hop Weekly, COB (COB)
Circle of Bosses, Crooked I
Ow (Treacherous Records, ha ha)
Yeah
Next week we doing some old school shit
Ha ha
I'm still taking requests, hit me on MySpace
Guess what?
I'm Mr hip-Hop Weekly
And fuck all copycats, get guac freely
Yes I embody that, dig hot breezies
Pimping's not easy
Shouts out to Fred Hampton Jr in Chicago
Shouts to Bishop Brigante in Toronto
I'm a mercenary, squeeze it double quattro
Cover your meat with the shells for
The cheese like a taco
I go straight to your crib
If you pushing weight
When you get home I might be
The reason that your bush'll shake
I pop out
My Glock find a place to put your face
White tee bloody as an apron
Around a butcher's waist
Like them baby back joints stacked
On top of each other
Ribs are touching, no stopping a brother
Strip nigga, now go lay on top of your mother
A sick nigga
It was a hobby to rob me a sucker
(yeah)
I'm about to ride around to
Biggie's "Ready to Die" shit
With one of you maggots tied up in the trunk
Now that's some fly shit
My heart dark as the inside of your eyelids
Bitches try to gas me
Crooked I's too hybrid
(ow)
Yeah, I spit like a Long Beach Pharoahe Monch
Keep your eyes on the sparrow
When the double barrel launch
I'm g'd like a character from
Robert De Niro's Bronx
Tale, hell
Tell me why the hell I wear a watch
(huh)
Cause when it come to time
I'm so far ahead of mine
I can tell you ahead of time
You need some better lines
Like eleven times seven, I'm
Seventy-seven times better than
Whoever rhymed
Never mind
Yeah, I ain't gonna even educate
You niggas right now
Crooked I man, gangsta MC, COB
(Circle of Bosses)
Shouts out to my dude LG in Brooklyn (brrap)
Yah mean
Shouts to my dude Dylan Dylinjah (pow, pow)
We made history baby
When you was on Bad Boy and
I was on Death Row
We recorded a song together
First Death Row and Bad Boy
Collabo since all the bullshit
(you know)
You know what I'm talking about (ha ha)
We rode through the streets
Of LA together baby
You know how I do it
Pistols motherfucking up
20s on Benzes (yeah)
COB, Crooked I, yeah
I'm a gangsta MC, gangsta M, gang
I'm a gangsta MC, gangsta M, gang (ow)
I'm a gangsta MC, gangsta M, gang (yeah)
I'm a gangsta MC, gangsta M, gang
I'mma, I'mma, I'mma (ha ha)
Yeah, short and sweet
What's the motto? See you next week