[Verse 1]
Growing up as a kid what did hip hop mean?
Momma bought me a boombox before I was a teen
But unfortunately she had a welfare salary
So they cut off our electric and I ran out of batteries
Aw naw, no music I'm ready to brawl
Freestyling in the dark, words bouncing off the wall
I used to hate that shit growing up poor
Now I realize it made my rhymes hotter than yours
Waiting on the day my metaphors would open better doors
Battling for cheddar, shitting on competitors
Pistol ready for whatever wars
My .22 stayed open just like the legs of 11 whores
The Cali mentality ruthless in behavior
This is why I'm hot nigga, music is my savior
In the booth, yeah the truth is in my flavor
In the coupe yeah the roof is in the air
How you gon' tell me that this kid's not crazy
Made seven songs a day and it did not phase me
Don't make me change the shit to hip hop daily
Record so much you wonder if Pac raised me
I'm just not lazy, am I a genius?
Did Prince rock paisley? I did my Jay-Z
Rendition, no pencil, no paper, never heard a pin drop baby
Tip top shape G
Flow been on more fiends, sick since fourteen
Watching rappers belly flop minus the chlorine
I'm snoring, the game is boring
Like I got a scoring title and four rings
Plus a scorching jump shot that torch teams
Forcing myself to play with you poor things
I foreseen it all before it happened
A lot of niggas go platinum, their yes-men start clapping
For they captain right after them niggas finish rapping
But everything they was rapping was wack, that's what's happening
That's why a lot of mainstream niggas stink
Between hip hop and gangsta rap I'm the missing link
The streets hit me with everything but the kitchen sink
When my enemies was coming to get me I didn't blink
If it's any rapper that should be your favoritest me
I got my own category: gangsta MC
I manipulate break beats thanks to MPs
And I still break a bitch like my name was Pimp C
Pimp C, Pimp C
And I still break a bitch like my name was Bun B

[Verse 2: Crooked I]
Fuck haters, I'm never ever phased
Maybe cause I know I'm down to let the weapon raise
Niggas talk shit to leatherface, better race
Who the hell could drop shit every seven days?
Crooked got so many rhymes it seem scary
Niggas with beef, ya'll could meet me at Queen Mary
Long Beach, Eastside, yeah we heat carry
Fuck badder bitches than Halle Berry
Peep the scenario, we bury yo'
Ass then people ask where'd he go
I'm playing r&b songs in a cherry Fo'
Cause a lot of ya'll rappers sound terrible
Yo, acrobatic flow, asthmatic sick
Psychopathic, rappers back at it
Skip the Craftmatic, sleeping on the baddest illmatic
Addict is just ass-backwards
Peep the mathematics, no more semantics
From that crack addict, flow is black magic
Already selling rocks on our block
Now you about to get your head dropped in a box
Get shot with a Glock, I'll pop with a chopper
Hop in a drop while I watch for the 'copters
He'll never be recording again
Both hands on the nine like a quarter to ten
Give me money, give me hoes, then poor me some gin
But it really don't matter what order it's in
Hey you how the shit go, I kick that sick flow
Then I get dough, I sit low
In the indo-green six-fo' with a thick coat
Looking how the wrist glow, hit no, I'mma sip slow
A pistol on my hip yo, I explode when the wind blow
Ey, before this shit is over with
Let me tell you who I am so you don't forget
I'm the C dot R dot O dot O dot K dot E dot D dot I
Dot rhyme, hot put me in your iPod, why not
Lightning rods when I rock, nigga my god
Niggas better study the flow
Then you too can have money to blow
Holler at me, wait
I said niggas better study the flow
Then you too can have money to blow
I'm outro, next...week