Creased Khaki Flow

Go...

Yeah... you wanna know what this is my nigga

(The creased khaki flow)

The creased khaki flow ykno what I'm talking about, that gangsta shit, what

else (the white tee spit)

Yeah, I'm talking about a whole motherfuckin can of starch nigga

(the creased khaki flow)

And one crease comin down the middle of a white t-shirt yeah

(the white tee spit)

Crooked I's cold-blooded like I gotta Rick James degree

I'm so rugged, switch lanes with me

I'm so thuggish, ho's love it, flip change, live dangerously

Only lames spit game for free

You damn right this man writes his raps like his life's in a crisis

And I'm twice as sick as Ms. Anne Rice is

I stand right up squeezin the mic lifeless

You might like my concise preciseness... like this

Cats came in the rap game and claimin they crack slangin, the gat aimin

In fact, they act just like Matt Damon

Homie my gat'll slay men

You cats say when and... blaow

I roll up on your block then I blast

Cops finna ask who shot you while you rockin an oxygen mask

I hit the gas in the drop finna smash to the spot

Got my glock locked in the stash spot in the dash

My six cruise on big shoes

I'm a lit fuse with sick views

I got issues, I misuse... pistols

Say we in combat, I spazmatic like a crazy Vietnam cat

[Hook:]

Yeah, crease your motherfuckin khakiz up

Juice the batteries in your low-rider caddies up

Chuck Taylors, white tees, slang cavy what

These streets made me a trigger-happy nut

Yeah, crease your motherfuckin khakiz up

Juice the batteries in your low-rider caddies up

White tees, Chuck Taylors, slang cavy what

These streets made me a trigger-happy nut

Yeah, it's young Crooked

Yeah you had a leg but my pump took it

Now you hip-hop cuz you one-footed

I lick shots, drop, here comes bullets

I leave scenes sick as Hitchcock

News won't even run footage (tell em)

I come hooded jus like a grim...reaper

Slim... keeper, 9 double m heater

Creepin in tha streets, deep in the seats of tha jeep

Beatin new releases through 10 speakers

It gets deeper

I'm bringin that long beach feeling back

See me on tha eastside where all of them killers at

But my enemies don't wear raiders, saints, or even a steelers hat

They wear a badge... how real is that?

No matter what, ghetto life is still in my veins

If you poverty-living, I know you feelin my pain

I'm still sick in the brain, skill spit with such meticulous game

Shoot ridiculous like Nicholas Van Exel

Guess who's sexing your step-daughters

A nigga who can draw glocks better than sketch-artists

When I walk in the club, hug your ho

Hustlers know, I'm nut-so with the thugsta flow

Everything's open, nothing is closed

Magazine's throwing me on them fuckin covers to pose

Look at young papi, cocky, never sold one copy

Gun cocked rocky, please come stop me

So and so is cool, what's his name is aight

Homeboy is okay, but Crooked I is tyte

That's what's heard, that's my word, act absurd

You cats get served cuz I rap disturbed

I'm closing doors with the quickness

I'm in the Pocanos poking hos hoping you don't poke your nose in my business haters

I'm scopin those from a distance

Relentless foes get a broken nose for persistence

Absolutely, cats bringin gats to shoot me

I even watch all them rats actin goofy

Disguised as groupies, that's a doozy

What's that bulge under your shirt?

That's a uzi... excuse me

[Hook]

Yeah! Long Beach is back, I told y'all niggaz man

I'm comin down Atlantic Ave.

letting my paint drip on the motherfuckin street '61 rag

ay style, we gonna get this money and buy the Queen Mary 5-6-2

I told y'all

Long Beach is ba-a-a-a-a-ACK! nigga! gyeah!

Creased Khaki Flow...The White Tee Spit

Jim Gittum...Crooked I

C.O.B. til we di-i-ie