Dead or in Jail

[Hook: Kxng Crooked & Jessica Quintero] I came from nothing, I always wanted something They told me I would never succeed I would only end up dead or in jail I'm free, I'm alive, I got money I ain't dead or in jail I ain't dead or in jail [Verse 1: Kxng Crooked] It's funny how you niggas think you harder then the hardest Picture me debatin' no time to argue with you artists If you do a song with me I'm probably just targeting your market And then I take them home with me and win that argument regardless You hustle to be seen, I read that on a meme I get paper and disappear call that vanishing cream Yeah I do work with the Slaughters But I'm so on top of my business that I probably go harder Part of the management team I just step into the booth after I executive produce And I'm as effective as a noose ‘cause hoes wanna hang Cook me breakfast in the nude, scramble eggs, I’m sipping juice And I still conceal steel, that Beretta is recluse I’m from the Mass Terror era You from the Mascara era So never ever compare yourself to that rapper that’ll lead your New Era dripping that marinara For a pair of paramedics to repair ya where you’re laying at I’m sayin’ cat, get away from me with them Gucci sneakers You ain’t fashion forward as Kanye, I guess we do need Jesus I’m in my Coupe, I’m rocking a few jewelry pieces Playing some unheard Eminem, like fuck your new releases My team can inspire millions The flow been fire, ask the native NY’ers Like the Empire Building, I’m just empire building When grown folks are talking, quiet children Shh… [Hook] [Interlude: Kxng Crooked] Yo Shout out Jurassic 5 Hieroglyphics Pharcyde and De La Soul Digable Planets And the almighty Tribe Called Quest Yes Uh [Verse 2: Kxng Crooked] Let’s get back to the jam doe You rocking with new friends, I’m surrounded by fam doe That part is mando, I don’t understand your ass Get a little fame, get a little name, then forget the same from which you came That ain’t who I am doe Keep shit the same, for damn sho And if your dame, is on her best behavior, tell her she can text me later I guess that’s kinda boss But this game made the word boss so lame I prefer to be referred to as a check creator, slash regulator Slash nigga that pull your respirator plug I’m killing ‘em ‘cause this game keep giving me hell They only want me selling crack so they can give me a cell But I spit crack to let my freedom ring, now that’s Liberty Bell Fuck it, give me a scale It’s pure dope, I could sell it forever, who better Hold up, I beg your pardon, the mac-11 weapon spark You get severed in several parts ‘til a 7-footer is leveled with Kevin Hart 187’s the deadly art and every bar is cold as the devil’s heart mixed with Eric Cartman I’m the best in every department (yes) I’m sorry, these niggas got me hype, man And this really ain’t the type, man I listen to what you write and everything just sound aiight, man You better off a hype man Who me? Music is my life, man [Hook] [Outro: Kxng Crooked] We’re out here living, man And we live Roll up