Shady CXVPHER

My name is KXNG CROOKED, I snap on you rappers often When I'm spazzin' I'm just gettin' my passionate point across Like a hood cat clappin' his hands when he's talkin' Now that I got your attention, I feel I should really mention Don't come around here flossin', Big Willies, we really lynch 'em Pull out the chopper, rappers hittin' the ground Like every bar is a bullet, when I pull it, it sound like B-b-b-b-b a couple of bullets are comin' your way then it jam Like got damn Then I pick up somethin' quicker, start killin' everything in the vicinity The proximity, the Glocksimity, we on Yosemite Sam Bam, bam your body drop Van Damme, karate chop The Baretta's a better competitor Pop pop turn your sweater to a crop top Killin' you and whoever in that drop top Etcetera, etcetera and it will not stop Just shoot, shoot like doot doot And booku, booku, I'm cookoo I'm a star goin' to war with you clones like Count Dooku I'm worlds apart from you rappers Like I walk in the booth rockin' a biosuit made of plastic And NASA's galactic elastic travelin' through space, interstellar rapid Broadcastin' from uninhibited planets When I come back, that's it You see a flash in the sky, it's that nigga, I When I land, you wack niggas die And your casket is your last hit You wack bitch, fuckin' bastard Back to the hand clappin' You die quicker than Darren Wilson walkin' through Ferguson Dressed like the grand dragon of the Klan Passin' niggas with pants saggin' With their hand on a black Magnum To clap him backwords so their last words is ? That's backwards for "Fuck them damn niggas" Buck them damn triggers Charge us, bodies fill up them damn Rivers Cause everybody wanna be the best rapper alive But I only like dead rappers Compare me to the best rappers who died And you rappers I used to look up to I gotta cancel you now Like Simon Cowell, I can't let you ex factors survive Nah, the time's right and they finally limelightin' the god of this rhyme writin' My mic can only be likened to Poseidon's trident and Zeus' lightin' strike And my metaphors are what Thor was to the Norse viking I'm a born titan and at-point kill 'em like swordfightin' I'm slicin' organs with songwritin' I dwarf giants, I hope I'm rubbin' you pussies wrong sorta like poor dykin' I smoke philosophy, I snort science That means I'm higher than higher learnin', look in my eyes That's where the fire's burnin' Try to deny music's messiah returnin' You die and you fry in my iron furnace I am on my get rich and die tryin' like when Em was signin' Curtis cause I am murderous (Joe Budden, Jersey City, New Jersey) Now we can do this a couple of different ways, it really depends Could give them classic NY jeans over the Timbs Or I could spit about my car and how it sit on the rims I could tell you why I'm hot and disappear like MIMS But the bars there, put that on God, ask an atheist And if ain't a bomb at least I'm in the blast radius I'm beating these kids' indictment, shit, I like the terror APB on my actions, I'm in the viking era Moment of truth, I give you facts right now Fuck the cypher, my mind ain't on rap right now So it's fuck metaphors and punches, all the witty shit Got a missing uncle and another need a kidney flip Face says I been stressed I got an aunt getting her ass kicked by MS Nigga, why am I here? For the look, for the promo Shit that bothered from the start Cause the cancer left his lungs and it's on my grandfathers heart Yeah, just not decided to be his own I'm supposed to put that to the side when the beat is on I'm planning the funeral, I'm getting the hearse ready These niggas only wanna ask me if the verse is ready Not the how do I feel, not the how do I deal If that's the life, nigga, then how is it real? These last couple of days I've been speaking to my peers Giving them cries for help, I guess they need to see the tears But wait, wildest part of all of that is They'll shoot a suicidal rapper right here on the bridge But fuck it, gotta pardon 'em, shout out to my squad and 'em House Gang, Shady, I'm gone, nigga, my job is done Yelawolf, Gadsden, Alabama My name is Wayne, I'm from Alabama Here's the back story I just fell off the turnip truck with Ernest Tubb I'm 33, I've got 3 kids and I just popped 3 pills I don't know which one's which or what it's for Safety ain't really a habit I've formed I still smoke to the cigarette butt I still drink till I end up being that klutz Clumsy, self-destructive dummy Stumbling over my words, mumbling I'll probably do it tonight Leave the bar, leave the car And pass out like a fetus in a jar with my feet up to the stars And dream about that light that leads up to the lord I have nightmares about my momma getting beat up in the yard Wake up feeling like half a human Hit the studio and unleash this guilt and regret For my lack of union between rap, you and the rock and roll community For unity between country music and MCs, I'm claiming immunity Still I'm working, sawing, milling this tree Building this house exactly the way Charlemagne the god and Lord Jamar Thought it would be Wait a minute, the lord and the god hate me Jesus Christ, I am the white devil! Nah I'm still working, sawing, milling this tree Building this house exactly the way I thought it should be Wanna take a tour? Let's see I've got floor-to-ceiling windows and a cabin-style mansion Books, bears, trucks, boats, tyres, spares, four-wheelers Three-wheelers, two-wheelers, a drug dealer on call Plaques on the wall, racks on the wall for my guns on the wall Lift gets low while there's chop shops, hi tops, low tops, cowboy boots Ditsy flags, American flags, Slumerican tags on my Slumerican ass CEO I've got my name on the bathrobe, and the flame on the back porch is lit Guess who's coming to dinner? André 3000 and Hank the Third, go figure I've got two stand-up jetskis, a top pedigree horse, just a pet to feed of course Who rides a horse in an ash field? I might I've got bicycles for the kids, tricycles for the babies And mateys, bottle rockets, bottles in my pocket Moonshine, gold watches, gold rings All fake, no bling, don't hate, that's my thing I've got new clothes, old clothes, vintage, tremendous, endless style Goodwill loves me Mackle-more than you I've got flat screen TVs, with skate videos on repeat All the latest CDs, mp3s, and Beats by Dre Thank you very much, Jimmy Iovine for the check I've got a black woman fine as she can be FeFe with a ring on her finger that could give sight to the blind A 5, a 10, a couple hundreds layin' on the counter I don't know where that came from I got artwork from hard work, yardworkers for yard work Don't look under the tarp, sir I'm growin' weed for my mama there I've got a paved driveway and photos in the hallway of me on my Harley And I did it my way See, hip hop is what you make of it And I'm makin' a lot of it See that's a quadruple entendre, Jay Z eat your heart out But these cyphers, I treat 'em like a war, don't want no mediators Nah, this that grow up in the P's behavior, next door to the greasy neighbors People thank you, I do this for all the mean creators I was someone who never needed favors to get where I'm at Now they deem me a savior But to be honest I ain't feelin' like that, I just really like rap I'm not lucky, trust me I'm opposite the hands of Sandusky With the shit that my pen states, these rappers can't touch me Ugly? Shit, you serious? I'm hideous I was better than all you silly kids when I was tryna figure out who I really is As a younger dude, life was somethin' rude I barely made it to the first like a Cutler move No rubber groove on my shoes had to fight, so suspensions I had 3 in one week, yeah that was public school Did I say 3 in 1? That's funny cause there's 4 of us in the Slaughter That's 3 to 1, I learned that in public school too Like what's in between a 3 and 1 and House Gang, I spoke to all 3 on 1 call Like I dropped 2 albums and #3 is 1 second from bein' done Just need y'all 3 to send me 1 verse apiece