Boss Biter

[Intro: Crooked I]
Boss
Boss
Yeah
Yeah, haha
Couple of haters out there
One in particular
He's a real bitch
Ya heard me? (Ha, ha)

[Verse]
That nigga's a bitch, why fear holmes
I'm bossy like the wife of Mr. Nasir Jones
My songs, all I wanna hear in my earphones
'Cause when I turn the radio on, I hear clones (Who?)
You bitin' my shit, you gets no love
Pac spread that thug shit, along with the Bone thugs
I spread that boss shit, you niggas want slugs?
I been doin' it since '95, you niggas on drugs
Stole from the underground, took it to the mainstream
Everything I say, heard that nigga say the same thing
When I catch you slippin', I'ma let my pretty thang ring
Amputate your pockets like the muthafucka's gangrene
I dropped young boss, the west in charge
The double XL magazine gave me an extra large
It's a classic mixtape, that's what some say
Wonder if they know I recorded the shit in one day
Ready for action, my pistol poppin' off of gunplay
Flyer than any contraption, hoppin' off the runway
Hotter than a sun ray, nigga wit a attitude
Like I was a young Dre, Crooked is the one, ehhhh
You fuck around and my gun spray
Married to my Smith & Wesson, that's my Beyonce
Even Mathew knows a thug spray steel
Turn ya lights out, quicker than an unpaid bill
Throw them pipes out in the river like once they kill
Circle of Bosses, doin' what the fuck they feel (C.O.B.)
Even if it mean a nigga gotta face a bid
Gun smokin' more than any emphysema patient did
When I'm beefin', tell the preacher he should pray for kids
And tell Chief Bratton the streets ain't even safe for pigs (Hell nah)
Yeah, my lower self starts thinkin' with it's evil mind
Even though my higher self know I can help lead the blind
Two sides of me in one body, so we combine (Yeah)
Both sides agree, it's logical to keep a nine (Yeah)
And creep low like a snake, the pistol's the rattle
I Alaska you rappers who be livin' to battle
Six months with no sun, mean you live in my shadow
Slaughtered for my third meal, nigga, no different from cattle (Oww)
East side, Long Beach, I'm goin' hard for my town
Sittin' on top of my money, feet far from the ground (Hahaha)
But my skill level got me on the march for the crown
Shit you pitchin' isn't the business, depart from the mound, now
Choppin' you niggas, nah, that ain't hard work
Why you think I got the chainsaw on the artwork
So I can slice your chest open and watch your heart squirt
I'm layin' iron on these marks like a starched shirt (Wah)
You muthafuckas ain't pushin' the line right
You washed up, now you just a whore for the limelight
I can close my eyes and see right through you with my minds sight
Killin' phonies when the times right
I'm Crooked I, the one your favourite rapper scared to mention
'Cause I'm out of their dimension
I'm the heir to the chair, with henchmen
Intentions, prepare for vengeance
Bitch niggas should wear hair extensions, yeah
This is my introduction to the U.S
You don't know my name? just address me as the New West

[Chorus]
It's cash over bitches
Never hoes over doe
On the smash for my riches
Got niggas to overthrow (Yeah)
It's some haters on the west coast
Some of y'all are cancer (Yeah)
New West, let's go
Crooked is the answer (Yeah)

[Outro]
Ya'mean
Nik Bean
DJ Felli Fel
Ha, ha
Crooked I, C.O.B
Happy Valentine's Day
It's the muthafuckin' Bossacre
Yeah
I mean, we cuttin' niggas hearts out
Hahahahaha
New West or nothin'