Cliqued Up

[Intro]
TheHitBrainiac

[Verse 1: Crypt]
Nowadays, to be taken serious
You gotta have some face tats thrown on
That's an oxymoron
All you high on OxyContin, I call you "Oxy-morons"
So pass me the aux, you moron
I'll put some real shit on, legit hits we born on
You wanna step to us? Then that's a move to regret
But you gotta get burned to know that the stove's on
Everybody thinkin' they can do better than Scru and I
Pull up on us and we'll prove it to you that we do or die
You don't want no problems with the prophecies poppin' off
All the knowledge that we got from Biggie, 2Pac, and Nas
All this lyricism make you quiver like the middle of December
I'm flippin' the middle finger with every limerick I deliver
Dismemberin' every single ignorant idiot
Thinkin' their shit is it, but it's a little bit ridiculous
Scru and Crypt, we done cliqued up
Call us Scrypt, but we don't stick to it
'Cause we doin' shit how the fuck we want
And we the best around and we proved it
Come and step up to us, Scru is gonna ruin every human who is
Reducing music to something foolish, I ain't cool with it
I'll put you in a coffin and then Jean will screw it shut
Then I'll send you down to the crypt where the fun has just begun

[Hook: Scru Face Jean]
Haters gon' be like what it is, boy
How a lyricist keep makin' hits, boy?
How a backpack rapper just take your bitch, boy?
Oh shit, oh shit, they the clique, boy!
"Oh shit, oh shit, they the clique, boy!"
Big up, big up, harder, spit us
We here, we up, we ain't gon' switch up
Sick of the quitters— for real, it's us
The clique fizz up, oh shit, they cliqued up

[Verse 2: Scru Face Jean]
Stop approachin' me, why you close to me?
Below me is where you're supposed to be
There ain't no roastin' me, a loose canon, so holster me
Your homies gon' hold ya rosaries
The game has molded me to be untamed like Mowgli
My jungle is not a book
The soul in me has gone cold as snow
I'm s'posed to be froze, but I got them shook
Dopest whippin', check the flick of the wrist
Dopest spittin', but I'm here with the clique
Approach these fuckin' instrumentals and— "Shit!
No he didn't!" Better tell 'em I did!
You sellin' them shit, I'm just here to tell 'em you did
To swing and just swell up your lips
No fucks on some celibate shit
You said you was sick? Why is you tellin' a fib?
You tell us this shit, stop trippin', lil' fella, just quit
I spit like the led from a clip
A hell of a 6, so big, make an elephant sick
They gelatin skeletons quit
You niggas is buns, and just to be frank, dog
I'm about to relish in this
The people follow 'cause my freakin' motto
Was some sleepy hollow, just ahead of this shit

[Hook: Scru Face Jean]
Haters gon' be like what it is, boy
How a lyricist keep makin' hits, boy?
How a backpack rapper just take your bitch, boy?
"Oh shit, oh shit, they the clique, boy!"
Big up, big up, harder, spit us
We here, we up, we ain't gon' switch up
Sick of the quitters— for real, it's us
The clique fizz up, oh shit, they cliqued up

[Verse 3: CHVSE]
I've been overthinkin', yeah (Yeah)
Think my boat is sinkin', but (Nah)
All the pain that I keep bottled up
Man, it drove me close to drinkin', and (Sheesh!)
I can't shake the feelin', 'cause
When I write, I read it, and ([?])
I don't feel like myself anymore, man
I feel like I'm a demon, 'cause
When I write from the heart, man, it's hard on myself
And all of my fans think it's harder to help (Ayy, ayy)
They just don't get that I'm startin' to dwell (Yeah)
On the shit that I'm missin', the spark that I held ([?])
So fuck it, really wanna keep this real?
Really wanna know how the fuck I feel? (Yeah)
Really wanna know why I stopped makin' music
For the love of the fans and never copped no deal?
Well, here, let me go and start at the beginnin'
They never gon' let ya talk about the life you been livin'
Instead of humbly spittin', they make you mumble the rhythm
And make a milli' off of that, and then they give a percentage
Of all the money that you made about diminishing women
And sniffin' prescriptions to get into the niche with addictions
I'm fuckin' sick of dealin' with it, man, I'm feelin' so wicked
I'll grab the beat up in a minute and I'll beat up and hit it, hey!

[Hook: Scru Face Jean]
Haters gon' be like what it is, boy
How a lyricist keep makin' hits, boy?
How a backpack rapper just take your bitch, boy?
"Oh shit, oh shit, they the clique, boy!"
Big up, big up, harder, spit us
We here, we up, we ain't gon' switch up
Sick of the quitters— for real, it's us
The clique fizz up, oh shit, they cliqued up

[Verse 4: Duane Jackson]
Cliqued up is what I is, I never give up on what I live
I'm goin' straight to the top—
Think not? Then suck my dick
'Cause I don't care who the fuck you is, I put work in
You seen what the fuck I did
And now you seen who the fuck I'm with, this mo'fuckin' rap
All y'all some mo'fuckin' ants, scants
So you tunnel through the back while I'm jumpin' through the glass
Like, what is up, I'm comin' for my chance
Ain't nothin' ever come into my path, if it does, then it dies
Anybody fuckin' with my plans
Better watch or I'm comin' for your past, nothin' is safe
Lungin' for the cash, we jumpin' in the bag
Ain't nothin' but a mass, but I'm takin' it all
Enjoyin' the winds and embracin' the falls
Employed to be sick, 'cause I'm made to be off
The moment I got in, you know that I'm on it
The shit was designed for me, I'm what you climbed to be
No one can stop it 'cause this is where titles meet
I am the final piece, I ain't gon' leave
I'm here from the start
If you think that you've got it, well, dearly depart
You nearly on par, but stuck in your lane
I'm here for the art, so fuck out my way, bitch

[Hook: Scru Face Jean]
Haters gon' be like what it is, boy
How a lyricist keep makin' hits, boy?
How a backpack rapper just take your bitch, boy?
"Oh shit, oh shit, they the clique, boy!"
Big up, big up, harder, spit us
We here, we up, we ain't gon' switch up
Sick of the quitters— for real, it's us
The clique fizz up, oh shit, they cliqued up