Big Spender

[Intro] Week 20, dedictated to the Eastside RTCs I see ya, ya'll know who you are Good looking on all the support Ya'll know what I'm talking 'bout Can't nothing stop us though C.O.B., Treacherous Records, Crooked I [Verse 1: Crooked I] This is for gangstas only The dance floor's packed and them things are on me These cats want to hate cause they dames is on me I'm strapped in the club so it's dangerous I'm anxious, I can't just Ice out the rings, I need the bracelets My main Miss got the diamond C.O.B. anklet She don't give me brains kid Naw she give me face lifts Then she say I'm on a good diet after she taste it Back to the basics Outside of the matrix Ya'll ring tone rappers should face it, you ain't shit '86 Cutlass the color of coconut cake mix White tee, new pistol and K-Swiss, yes Just met a chick fly as Jessica Alba Say she fuck all night and never mess with the powder Baby girl possesses a certain essence about her Maybe or it's the aura of sex that surrounds her Now we kicking back sipping fine wine Found out her kitty cat really has nine lives What happened man, yo I often wonder Baby hit me on Myspace, I lost your number Knowing Crooked won't trick that's a big disaster You know I come cash first, bitches after No master in business but I got the business mastered Long Beach is in this bastard Hi top Vans, creased Dickie shorts 50 quarts of Henny, pretty chrome semi torch Send you to the city morgue You'll be Found On Road Dead like the acronym for any Ford C.O.B. you got a problem wit' it Hottest nigga under the brim of a Dodger fitted That's my thinking cap but it ain't no conscience in it The gun popped, the monster did it, I'm bonkers with it Then I dip like lobster spinach Cockpit of a Benz sitting on birds cause it's ostrich in it Dear mama, these niggas can't fuck with me You can rest comfortably, your son's a G Lot of downloads cost but this one's for free If you accustomed to busters then you should adjust to me, homey The C-R my god, the double O nigga K-E-D, they say he's me I'll televise your demise easy as A-B-C Leave you dripping like the Jheri curl on AC Green Told ya how we take over when my day come You can't compete unless you got beats from Andre Young It's in my genes to get bad bitches, why bang one? I was born to get more head than Sade's son Coast to coast, LA to Chicago Better ask 'em about Crooked Intriago GT not the Bentley homey, the Diablo Young jefe, ese, yeah the head honcho Top floor of the Le Montrose acting macho We sitting up a mile high like the Broncos Me, Mickey and Compo? fucking bomb hoes That's how I do it ever since I was a snot nose I'm the West walking on two legs Like the motherfucking California map just grew legs