Real Muthafuckin' G'z (Week 19)

[Verse 1: Crooked I] Motherfuck a battle My gat'll rattle niggas for the babble Let's leave that wordplay shit for Scrabble I let my hammers pass judgement on you like a gavel Your life'll unravel before you eyes, your body travels Six feet beneath gravel, a tough crime to tackle Homicide detectives left baffled Wait, they want to get it cracking, let it crackle We can grapple until I'm grabbing your adam's apple And making apple-flavored Snapple Life's a bitch and a gamble Why you think I married her in a Las Vegas chapel? I'm shitting every week My streak made of creek for which MCs have no paddle You dudes are so fragile I was underground, you was biting my shit I was getting my money right, quiet biting my lip I don't gotta take your flow or your style to Maury Povich I am the father, I already know bitch Hands off of my dope spit Or you'll be talking like this the rest of your life From getting your fucking throat slit Mind power flex the largest muscle Number one draft pick like Jamarcus Russell Fuck a pen, fuck a pad, disregard the huddle March a hundred yards off the head and start some trouble When it's dark I hustle, firearm in a Phat Farm I'm working hard as Russell, bringing art to struggle When I start to bubble I'm charging double Don't get it mixed up like a jigsaw puzzle, cuzzo Dear Crooked i critics if my lyrics haven't hit you Try on week 19, maybe these will fit you Crooked is the big news Put that on Yaweh, Allah and Vishnu You wish you could diss dude You know he give you real talk in them interviews Shit so real he put the readers in his tennis shoes Flow so cold he put the listeners in winter boots Feel his pistol whistle like the wind when it's in a flute You can't count how many how many rhymes a thug's rocking I show you so many bars you think you club-hopping And these bars are open, that's why my buzz popping FYI you haters, yeah I'm gun shopping You want to know what I bought, go google Kalashnikov Get the 'K when you piss me off Damn that AK's strong enough to lift your loft You nigga's soft, me I'm torn from a different cloth Top shotters relate, let it be known on this day August the 8th, I'm the head of my state Wait