Mass Appeal

[Verse 1: Crooked I] They say this industry's a marathon Well I guess I'll be the one with the gun Shooting in the air making niggas run I'm hungry and it's lunchtime And I know everybody on twitter want the Chippy D punchline (ha) Homie just turn up your speaker I remember when this came out I was young and eager Had to fuck with Le Tigre, yeah my budget meager Now the diamonds black and white chain hot as jungle fever While you selling out for mass appeal Not to mention you cotton picking out in Massa field I hope you got the vision to see past your deal Cause they'll get rid of your ass for real These company fucks are heartless I know rappers with platinum plaques That live in apartments that could fit in my glove compartment They fell off but didn't love the art Then they couldn't bounce back, now they fucked up, starving Mad at the world, salty, sodium Falling off is something they couldn't stomach, Imodium But I play you players or pimps at the podium Talking slicker than British Petroleum on linoleum Slowly but surely I'm showing them the flow be as cold as Napoleon Doper than coke kis With keys to open more doors than custodians I'm potent as opium When I'm in the zone again throw some Bon Jovi in If you ever wanna rock shit harder C.O.B. to death and off top this' SLAUGHTER Butcher knife and pig mask, that's Crooked I Now put your life in his hand, when I'm in the club It's hookers, ice and wristbands Or find me in a sweet six leaning That's sugar, dice, kickstands Think about it, naw fuck it, I'll wait See you next week same place #OKBYE bitch