Kxng Crooked – Convertible Bars Lyrics

Microphone check microphone check
I’m independent so I write my own checks
In this cutthroat game I won’t slice my own neck
Not to play the Bible card but my disciples on deck though
I write music that Kaepernick can kneel to
Gangster rappers get smashed backpackers get killed too
Matter fact I snatch a battle rappers Adam’s apple out of his neck so fast that when the plasma splatter it’s still blue
Thanks Em I just remixed your line like I’m the songs co-owner even that prefix is mine
I guess being a criminal is in my dna triple helix design
He spits a rhyme he glitches time eclipse your shine
He grips a nine three clips combined he rips your spine
Defensive line prevents your kind from seeing another sequence in time
This era you thinking these kids are blind
I’m Braille L Cool J these niggas feel me
You give them a marketing ploy I give them the real me
I know this industry looks at me like I’m a lethal weapon so they want to conceal me
Ask me about the Slaughterhouse album the honest truth was
I think the cultures needs it more than the group does
I just put lyrical activist in the juice jugs
And lean on the game like I’m extorting the new blood
You clowns shoot duds the circus is mad at me
It’s a nursing academy cause all I see is new scrubs
Murder who challenge me
These pussies are tighter than virgins anatomy
When I’m burning the booth Cuzz
What kind of beat we gonna’ demolish when you hear from us
I ain’t got no type like the Eardrummers
I don’t give a f*ck what I sale I don’t fear numbers
When it’s time to purchase the purists they disappear on us
I’m still rolling like a Pharaoh shooting golden bow and arrows
Out of them double loaded barrels out of them windows of Camaro’s
Still I’m folding up dinero plus I’m old enough to share hold (hold up!)
I’m a product of Cuban links you can call me the Ghostchef

At any moment I goes left like Pun in a cypher with dmx and Mos Def
Spittin like a woke rep arguing consciousness with them Hoteps
I’m an old vet I’m a stingray not the old Vette
Talking the stingray that left the Crocodile Hunter with no breath
Don’t step to the God unless it’s murder you search for
You started from the bottom your bottom must be the first floor
Mine is the Earth’s core my biological father was a poverty stricken farmer who left his seed to just grow up dirt poor
In the middle of a turf war not having him now or then I don’t know what hurts more
I don’t want the last time I see him to be in a mausoleum with me in a tux closing his hearse door
This verse lord I’ll share a few thoughts with ya
I’m only keeping it a buck because I rock wit ya
Imagine a young rapper came in the game sitting in the Death Row office I was staring at Pac’s picture
Kicked in the door for the chicken and dough the pot sticker
But that Pac picture helped me mature a lot quicker
For dead homies I’ma pour out alotta liquor
Hoping they in heaven looking down like my nigga
I’m still the illest to do it with wisdom like minister Louis Farrakhan
Mixed with a Jewish militia lieutenant sitting in the center of a synagogue
Putting his faith in a God that resides over different religions Christians and Islam
I guess my minds in a different place
It exists in a different space y’all can chase skin and race
But I’m running a different race mentally I’m lifting weights
Spiritually I live in grace my pineal gland expands
I used to water my chakra with vodka
Get drunk until my words were slurring sounding like I was mocking Chewbacca
Still bend the block with the chopper if I say it then I live it
I don’t play a roll to kick it ain’t no Oscars in soccer
Ain’t no Oscars in soccer

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