Come On Baby

[Verse 1: Crooked I] I took my flight out of Long Beach, not LA Straight through Jet Blue I hit JFK Made history like the shot that hit JFK It's young jefe, ese, que p-a-s-a What's happening, I'm in NY, the mecca of this shit And I'm California Crooked, mic wrecker of this shit Rock heavy metal like the Def Leopard of this shit For the record I'm the shit, I'm as West as you can get In the back of the cab I was rolling through Hollis, Queens Where DMC's mama cooked chicken and collard greens Then I went to Bedstuy where B.I.G. said it was all a dream Next I hit BX to see what Kris Parker seen Pardon me for speaking on music from back when I was ten, chrome kickstand on a black Shwinn Back then we cut cardboard to backspin Then crack came in, started blasting the Mac-10 Joyriding GTAs, time to roll Cops chased us, jump out, crashed it into a pole Never had shit so we stole Streets had me sewn up, stitched into the fabric of my soul Put my life and soul forward and spit it for my niggas Even if I didn't get figures I did it for my niggas And I get sicker as licorice swimming in my liver Sip the liquor 'til I piss a river Spit it from the center of my stomach Before I ever let my skills plummet I kill a million MCs 'til I'm ill from it Then I steal a hundred broads if niggas still want it Drop you from a summit so high niggas feel blunted Never lose my touch, with watermelons you can confuse my nuts Kicking the hugest bump Choose my whos, my whats, nigga use my guts Like the mouth of useless sluts, your music sucks So accolades come, Crooked get the lion's share Mind of a scientist, I am there You know a nigga rhymes rare When you see a Eastside Long Beacher wearing a hundred carats in Times Square With or without diamonds, Crooked stay shinin' I'm uptown, Dodger jacket, suede lining I'm all day grinding Cause the music industry is like Americacn Idol Record execs play Simon 'Til you learn how to rap don't tell me shit Told ya'll it's Eastside LB bitch C.O.B. family shall be rich Wealthy, fuck trying to sell three zips Rather push Shelbys and swell these chips I won't fail me, I'm well equipped With the gift God dealt me I'm not healthy Way I spit, help me, I might as well be sick