Talkin' to Myself

[Intro: Crooked I] {shout-outs} [Verse 1: Crooked I] Let me take you to the…hood, nigga Where we all under stress Thugs die a bloody death That’s nothing on the West Got a package from my enemies, inside it was a vest The note attached to it said “We ain’t aimin’ at ya chest” In the… hood, nigga Show you what danger is about Cameras filming every angle of my house Gotta send gang-bangers with my spouse Niggas aimin’ at her blouse Trying to change her into an angel in the clouds Pow-pow in the… hood, nigga Fuck with me I go gorilla Talk to ‘em Kobe Killer (I guess I keep talkin’ to Myself) The whole circle gotta eat, watch us set the table ‘Cause these record labels They ain’t never stable My connect in Diego Hit me with 100 pounds, I don’t mess with ya-yo Gotta respect my game though Polygraph Crooked spittin’ in the booth Other rappers spittin’ them writtens, I’m givin’ you the truth I’m a… hood nigga, only here to stack millions Even though I come from the home of the crack children See I’m a genius, I’m crazy as Katt Williams Busy as a beaver ‘cause I’m in the damn building This is the portrait of a poor kid Going from moving weight like a forklift to corporate Fertilize our mindstate, might make you forfeit Thinkin’ that the grass is greener, but it’s only horseshit Hood nigga! Late at night, that’s me in the mirror Saying “Crooked they don’t hear ya” (I guess I keep talkin’ to myself) Yeah Damn, I hate to sound like a broken record But for 52 weeks in a row I broke a record Check it, raping the game is my code of ethics Kids better watch their ass like the pope is naked Fuck it, I’m going the distance, persistence C.O.B.: We the resistance, for instance Let’s make a toast to ourselves for the way we conquered poverty By moving this marijuana properly Trying to acquire private property, not Monopoly Ain’t no get outta jail free if them coppers stoppin’ me They got orders from the top to lick a shot And leave a nigga’ body rottin’ if I stop pickin’ cotton As if punchin’ a clock is an option to a drop-out nigga Livin’ in a market that they not givin’ jobs in Us ghetto niggas we been beggin’ for some help I guess we talkin’ to ourselves, huh? (I guess I keep talkin’ to myself) And I’m too enterprising to take orders From a caveman who expect me to slave for eight quarters In a quarter to eight, I bang corners Doing tricks in whips like skateboarders I’m a motherfuckin'... hood nigga I remember times was hella hard Gun and a ski-mask played the role of a debit card ’86: from the mall I was forever barred For boosting them Avirex leathers, God I never sparred, every day was a fist fight A Outlaw like E.D.I., livin’ the Thug Life like Big Syke Sometimes I think I shouldn’t carry a ratchet For burying enemies when we couldn’t bury the hatchet Puttin’ snitches in the cemetery is tragic But we all about loyalty, like Cookie Johnson staying married to Magic! I wear this pinkie ring for a reason It ain’t to market an image or hit certain targets with gimmicks C.O.B. across my arm, it’s authentic Realest army invented Call me a general, and all my lieutenants salute #OKBYE