3rd Degree

[Verse One] [Saigon]: If I cock the biscuit, somebody gettin' a doctor visit Listen to 2Pacalysm, flippin' how 'Pac predicted A young death but still optimistic My survival instinct will make me go rob the district Spit an ox get a grip, rip you from your eyelid to lip with the bitter tip Your shit will drip a lot more than a little bit Your scar pa? Uh huh, you will never get rid of it Not even laser surgery will conceal your disfigurement Stupid head, my niggas will mark you for dead Pop lead, watch the hollow head slug particle spread Sorry savage I'll introduce you to body baggage Have the new body maggots eat you like crab ? Y'all rappers is average my status miraculous From Paris to where ever my dad is I embarrass the bad He pathetic, he inherited weak genetics P alphabetics, fill it to speed at 1,120 feet per second Makes a part of my fate to scar the Tri-State Y'all niggas get ate, broke down to a carbohydrate Saigon, Scram Jones He violate, I ain't gon' make no damn poem I'mma break that man bone [Verse Two] [Nino Bless]: Look I'm nice when I spit I don't care if you got hype and you rich I got the illest MC's rewritin' they shit You and me? It's like comparing a four star to a deli Belly to Goodfellas or Hoodfellas to Biggie B.I.G.'s flow to Diddy's Or comparin' the 'burbs crime rate to the south side of any city Or Yayo to 50's Lil' Wayne's wordplay to Pun's dead-in-the-middle-of-Little-Italy scheme Lyrically you ain't fit for the game You ain't shit, I mean literally, you a walkin' shit stain Talkin' like you did things You not the gangsta, you just tell they story like Ving Rhames And now we ain't the same, you and I sonny Since I've been on, who took the light from me? You nice? Get it right dunny I've been dope since 'Pac was sportin' a Gumby dancin' behind Humpty So this rap shit is light money I hustle whatever the weather, whether it's night, sunny I'm here movin' anything that brings dough You can tell I hustle, I cop everything with singles And I done been so broke totin' a fifth, locin' for chips No angle, no hope to get rich So lay low nigga, watch how you approachin' a spic I'll clip the halo off the angel watchin' over you bitch You niggas don't want it, don't even try Get your weight up homie, you under size Nino Bless, Scram Jones and Sai Throw Crooked I in the mix and this alliance is sick [Verse Three] [Scram Jones]: I'm sick as scarlet fever, spittin' bars with ether For the none believers, I'mma put it down like some carpet cleaner In my Nature, gettin' pussy with my father's features I'm not a player but get brains like a Harvard teacher While these rappers are just cartoons like Bart and Lisa All they do is bubble a little like Orangina I've been doin' this since Mistadoblina Way before the beef between Fif' and Don Cartagena Before the haterade never used to taste the shade Now dudes will cut you like they play Spades with razorblades I'm at the airport changing clocks like Flava Flav Still I love New York more than Tailor Made Give NY power cause dudes is type coward So I'mma put a cape on my back like Dwight Howard Too busy shoppin' the tracks I couldn't take the time out Watchin' dudes cop more crack than Amy Winehouse Now I'm in the stoop, cookin' somethin' awful And I ain't gonna stop till we pop and we all full So we cuttin' up the pizza make the dough fast Keep the money in the freezer, all we want is cold cash The beat peddler in the street sector Known to speak clever and rip like cheap leather They say he a movie, more like the director On the mic I O.D. like Heath Ledger [Crooked I talking]: It's your boy Crooked C.O.B [Verse Four] [Crooked I]: Idiot W's up with my thumb cuffed Must I stick my dick in a dumb slut Just to illustrate you a dumb fuck? A young buck Me and my guns love struck Get hit with the Magnum like Enter The Dragon nun chucks Noon chucks, soon as the moon's up Me and my platoon movin', assume that it's boom's up With the .45's I carry, I bury my adversaries Like lies buried in the library See I'm sick as a witchdoctor Pickin' which Glock to click pop ya Sick as script written by Hitchcock Or lyrics gettin' spit by Big Poppa Leave a vic hoffa, stick me, I drip Vodka Fo' fif' cocker I'm a clique shocker/Chaka Zulu, stickin' my chest out like a chick's knockers Bitch, I spit lava And I rock enough ice to entice a slick robber But nigga you gets nada All you get is murdered then dressed in a silly disguise Since you a clown, it's a fitting demise Yeah Crooked calls shots man, wigs can goosh I don't know how fiction looks, just the licks, the jooks The accountant to fix the books The foot soldiers to push prescription kush We just like the system; crooks So fuck the cops and the warden I spit for my niggas to make history like when Iverson crossed over Jordan