Lyrics Everythang - Crooked I

Money from the trap house
, Beef pull the Macks out
Stuntin′ pull the 'llacs out
In case you cats doubt
I′m don' everythang I rap about
And that's on everythang
Standin′ on the club couch
On the corner thugged out, bitches pull they tongues out
When we pull them one′s out
I'm doin′ everythang I rap about
And that's on everythang
Every time I rap, I leak a joint on the Internet
First in the fans say that Crooked I kill a jet
Firin′ squad, blindfolded cigarette
Smoke an instrumental, then I'ma chew a Nicorette
Hard bars in effect, rappers livin′ in my shadow
Watch 'em charge rent for my silhouette
I'm the illest, I ain′t met no one iller yet
Workaholic, I ain′t even met my pillow yet
You in your prime when you rhyme where you at
Maybe it's time for your label to sign a new act
The average person′ll blink seventeen thousand times a day
I spit a rhyme every time you do that
Add REM to that, you got Crooked I
You don't want none of that
You know where my gun is at
If bullets rain to your brain, man it′s just a fact
Unless your name boomerang, you ain't comin′ back
[Hook]
This industry is full of way too many lames
They know who they are, ain't gotta say too many names
It's like they on the benches now
Shootin′ from downtown in forth down
They playin′ way too many games
But I don't play though; G′s molded me like some Play Dough
And still I'm feelin′ as philosophical as Plato
I ain't hatin′ on you other artist's music
Tried to dumb down, guess I'm too smart to do it
Maybe I go somewhere and think of a dance
That′ll be the same day I rock a crease in my pants
Rather tell a bank teller better meet my demands
Put the cash in my palms or have a beast on your hands
I′m the type of dude to put you in an ambulance
If it's beef, I′m shootin' at cuties, three′s cameraman
Go ahead, stick your chest out fam-a-lam
This ain't a mammogram, hold up
[Hook]
When I′m spittin' I hope you findin' the art
When I′m rhymin′ I'm minin′ for diamonds, I shine in the dark
I'm a neurologist slash cardiologist
I′ma touch your mind and your heart
I feel like I'm designin′ the Arc
Bullshit is floodin' this rap world
We lost like that Black Girl in Nas' song
You claim to be live, well you got some nerve
You ain′t a title beat rider
This east side′ll reach higher
Fresh out the deep fryer, so you know each line is too hot to serve
You rock with herbs, retire
Leave while you got your cry peace by
Who got the urge to be nicer when I'm speakin′
I'm tryna remind you of 2Pac with words
This is Machiavelli′s retaliation
Bring the blues to your house, quicker than Live Nation
[Hook]