What’s happening? (What up Dizz)
The weeklies
We back, yeah
Shoutout JT Music (Okay)
DJ Beans, what up? (Okay)
Real fashionista, what’s poppin? (Aight)
Nah’mean? (Yeah)
The enlightened entrepreneur, what’s good?
King Low, what up?

You could smoke a spliff on a cliff, but ain’t no mountain high enough
Or wide enough to try to touch
The author calling’ writers bluff
I really don’t think you write enough
And them ghostwritten verses you purchase you couldn’t buy enough
To quiet me, I’m fired to fuck up now, uptown
Stay low, my signature move like I’m signed to Duck Down
Hundred round darker, Travis Barker bring the drums out
Rappers talking’ shit and they team tell me, what’s up now?
Doin’ this every week, come eat if you wanna beef
Gotta be on my level though, not a predator, let it go
I ain’t huntin’ for sheep, I’m huntin’ something with teeth
Wakin’ the coroner up just to lay you under a sheet, pussy
Aim Glocks and pop it, bring you some grief
I don’t need Dwayne Johnson to rock a nigga to sleep
But we really ain’t niggas, we neegers
But I could keep it a secret
A freak, it remain conscious and stomp niggas on beats (Cali)
West coast, home of the synthesizer
Put the clap in the track, hit a energizer
I’m from the city where the system hate the citizens
Think a innocent child criminalize ’em
Instead of civilize ’em, they’d rather penalize ’em
That what incentivize ’em
They wear a frown, I spot a clown and Pennywise ’em
Liquor stores on every corner, the Henny geyser
Tryna escape it with sports, hopin’ they win the Heisman
By any means, I’m chasin’ a different dream
I could buy eight cars
I make a million on straight bars
Even if I shake materialistic things, still keep three infrareds, call it a triple beam
Weigh the dope lines, keep up with the bar scheme
All about the bank, talkin’ chase like a car scene
Upper echelon, our team, never test the don
Weapons long, goin’ Decepticons, make a Starscream (Yeah!)
Give ’em the middle finger, holdin’ your neck when the pistol ring
Like nicotine and emphysema, do the dirt, you sent to cleaners
Bring it to your door like niggas that get subpoenaed
It’s the king of grippin’ neenas
Lyrical genius bringing fire, Rick and Teena with the heater
Flee the scene and switch demeanors
This a misdemeanor, meanin’ light work
Born a king like Miss Regina
I stood on the throne like once a week for ’em
Them other series was keepin’ my seat warm (Yeah!)
What happens when they reposses your cars up? (Huh?)
You lose all your money, you fall on hard luck (Huh?)
No skill in the ring, you put your guards up

You boxin’ with’ Crooked, you gettin’ bar’d up (Tell ’em)
Bar’d up (Tell ’em)
Bar’d up (Bar’d up)
You fuckin’ with’ Crooked, you gettin’ bar’d up (Tell ’em)
Bar’d up (Tell ’em)
Bar’d up
You fuckin’ with’ Crooked, you gettin’
The weeklies (The weeklies)