Crooked I - Umbrella / We Takin' Over (Week 5) lyrics

[Verse 1] Growing up as a kid what did hip hop mean? Momma bought me a boombox before I was a teen But unfortunately she had a welfare salary So they cut off our electric and I ran out of batteries Aw naw, no music I'm ready to brawl Freestyling in the dark, words bouncing off the wall I used to hate that sh** growing up poor Now I realize it made my rhymes hotter than yours Waiting on the day my metaphors would open better doors Battling for cheddar, sh**ting on competitors Pistol ready for whatever wars My .22 stayed open just like the legs of 11 who*es The Cali mentality ruthless in behavior This is why I'm hot n***a, music is my savior In the booth, yeah the truth is in my flavor In the coupe yeah the roof is in the air How you gon' tell me that this kid's not crazy Made seven songs a day and it did not phase me Don't make me change the sh** to hip hop daily Record so much you wonder if Pac raised me I'm just not lazy, am I a genius? Did Prince rock paisley? I did my Jay-Z Rendition, no pencil, no paper, never heard a pin drop baby Tip top shape G Flow been on more fiends, sick since fourteen Watching rappers belly flop minus the chlorine I'm snoring, the game is boring Like I got a scoring title and four rings Plus a scorching jump shot that torch teams Forcing myself to play with you poor things I foreseen it all before it happened A lot of n***as go platinum, their yes-men start clapping For they captain right after them n***as finish rapping But everything they was rapping was wack, that's what's happening That's why a lot of mainstream n***as stink Between hip hop and gangsta rap I'm the missing link The streets hit me with everything but the kitchen sink When my enemies was coming to get me I didn't blink If it's any rapper that should be your favoritest me I got my own category: gangsta MC I manipulate break beats thanks to MPs And I still break a b**h like my name was Pimp C Pimp C, Pimp C And I still break a b**h like my name was Bun B [Verse 2: Crooked I] f** haters, I'm never ever phased Maybe cause I know I'm down to let the weapon raise n***as talk sh** to leatherface, better race Who the hell could drop sh** every seven days? Crooked got so many rhymes it seem scary n***as with beef, ya'll could meet me at Queen Mary Long Beach, Eastside, yeah we heat carry f** badder b**hes than Halle Berry Peep the scenario, we bury yo' Ass then people ask where'd he go I'm playing r&b songs in a cherry Fo' Cause a lot of ya'll rappers sound terrible Yo, acrobatic flow, asthmatic sick Psychopathic, rappers back at it Skip the Craftmatic, sleeping on the baddest illmatic Addict is just a**-backwards Peep the mathematics, no more semantics From that crack addict, flow is black magic Already selling rocks on our block Now you about to get your head dropped in a box Get shot with a Glock, I'll pop with a chopper Hop in a drop while I watch for the 'copters He'll never be recording again Both hands on the nine like a quarter to ten Give me money, give me hoes, then poor me some gin But it really don't matter what order it's in Hey you how the sh** go, I kick that sick flow Then I get dough, I sit low In the indo-green six-fo' with a thick coat Looking how the wrist glow, hit no, I'mma sip slow A pistol on my hip yo, I explode when the wind blow Ey, before this sh** is over with Let me tell you who I am so you don't forget I'm the C dot R dot O dot O dot K dot E dot D dot I Dot rhyme, hot put me in your iPod, why not Lightning rods when I rock, n***a my god n***as better study the flow Then you too can have money to blow Holler at me, wait I said n***as better study the flow Then you too can have money to blow I'm outro, next...week