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Cigar Boy (Freestyle) Lyrics - Artist : Crooked I
Yeah
Tenth anniversary for Hip Hop Weekly is around the corner Niggas paranoid, nigga I'm back at it Star boy, call me cuban cigar boy The illest... I feel like Michael Jackson with the glitter glove at the MTV awards Rocking a fedora on some Kingpin shit The flow is Neil Armstrong planting his flag on a Saturday That mean I'm moonwalking on some weekend shit I'm from the city of Long Beach that's where police get hit And the guns are so voluptuous, just wanna squeeze this bitch I'm street shit, my niggas'll never snitch, rather sleep six Feet beneath the earth where all of they secrets is G shit, but nowadays the G code get treated horrible, don't it? Different court than when Jordan was on it All lame ball games, I'm just enjoying the moment When I'm recording at four in the morning destroying opponents See these rappers like to front like they the ones that's ill with it When it come to real lyrics cause I'm under skilled Critics said you was sick, he wouldn't know fuck shit Even if he was sitting on the toilet while the plunger still in it Deal with it, nigga this is God level flow What I'm about to say next, I'm freestyling, so I never know Booth pitch black, watch bezel glow This that Breakfast Club shit, nigga the Lox episode I just attract those riches, then racks come to me I just attract more bitches than flat tummy tea I just rap so vicious, it's a civil duty to be a star boy Like I mixed the class on civics and astrophysics I'm out here getting at your Mrs I didn't know though, if she ain't loyal that's your business I got the TDE strap, nigga the shrapnel visits Your abs and your soul 'cause it's pointed at your gizzard Don't act so 'spicious, what's that? That's those crickets I leave everybody he knows bleeding, back row tickets Gimme the cash flow digits, gimme the rap flow so heavy in food for thought That it crack your dishes and snap your dentures (Bitches) Rappers can't compete with the wisdom They still got the brainwashing they received from the system I could've easily dissed them, squeeze it and leave them a victim 'Cause we be taking beef literally, like a thief in the kitchen You lost souls, I ain't judging y'all, I ain't the magistrate The plates is out of steak, the Chucks is rattlesnake The bucks won't change me no matter the amount I make 'Cause I know how to keep shit sweet even when I'm out of cake Nah, I don't need a dollar to thrive Before I had an Impala to drive with models inside I opened a book of real niggas, followed the guide While my lioness gave me head and swallowed my pride I took all of my problems astride, gotta survive Even when I feel like my extended clips hollow inside Had God on my side, started from the bottom and rise I lost a couple of friends, caught them in lies Like being in a relationship you need to break up and escape Or staying with a deadbeat you need to wake up and replace Or Donald Trump shaking hands with Martin Luther the Third Niggas showing fake love straight up to my face Dog, that ain't nothing but a life lesson I'm glad you expose yourself, I don't like guessing I'm in a swimming pool that'll shock Khaled, counting my blessings Ordering cobb salad with some light dressing Your favorite rapper? You swear that he the craziest Then you find out he not the savior that he say he is All his songs fire 'cause of Holy Ghost writers It's like finding out the bible was written by some atheists Man, I do this shit religiously, I do this shit religiously Realest nigga in the industry, illest nigga in the industry This is C.O.B COB season What we say? We say "all year." We doing this all year! I'm on fire! Yeah, [?] to the grinders Forever, forever, forever Out |
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