Kxng Crooked – Gangsta Lyrics (feat. OG Blacc Bugg)

Good evening ladies and gentlemen
I'm glad you all could make it out tonight
I'd like to start it out with a story, about a young kid names Crooked
He grew up around a whole lotta' gangsta shit
The kinda shit a nigga with amnesia and Alzheimers can't forget
Let me paint the pic
See around here, set-trippin' and drug dealin' is a religion in ancient scripts
Bloods and Crips took the red and blue pill, yeah
Matrix shit
Freedom isn't real, freedom isn't real
'Cause people think being equal is evil
Don't believe me ask Martin Luther King and Imottell
That's why negros don't give a f*ck
Schemin' with the still, creeping up
Shooting with the intent to kill, even us
Sometimes I wish we could just re-invent the wheel
I'm looking at lil' Crooked right now
I'm just praying he don't become a bum ass thug, punk ass scrub
But I don't know though
'Cause I see him sitting on the porch right now with that nigga OG Black Bug
See Black Bug was that plug for the crack drug
The one that destroyed the community's black love, yeah that drug
He leaned over to Skinny Kenny, said "Go get the straps cuz'"
They in the back in a duffel bag with the ski mask and black gloves
I'ma pull the lac up, it's time to ride, uh oh

Lil' Crook' said, "What you 'bout to do?"
Bug said, "Some shit you don't know 'bout"
He said, "I know 'bout gangster shit"
"Gangster shit? Watch your mouth
Okay, go get your little ass in the car
I show you some shit
But you may never, never-yeva tell nobody what you saw"

They call me OG Black Bug
I'm built like an army tank
All these niggas know what's crackin' cuz
Five-star general, my army rank
My Levi's, I just crease 'em up
It's a good day to rob a bank
Homies talkin' 'bout peacing up
Kiss my dun, hell naw we ain't, mwah
I got the streets on lock nigga
Rubber bands around my drug money
I pay police around the clock nigga
A couple hoes to make some runs for me
You know the beef don't stop nigga
Who got a problem? All ears like Bugs Bunny
f*ck around and get shot nigga
My Tommy Gun'll leave the slums bloody
I got felonies in five states
These niggas treat me like I'm nine-eight
I'm in my backyard bitch-pressing
A beast laying under five plates
I get my dope from the West side
I keep my rag on the left side
If lil' Crook keep hanging with me
I gotta put him on the set, right?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *