Come On Baby

[Verse 1: Crooked I]
I took my flight out of Long Beach, not LA
Straight through Jet Blue I hit JFK
Made history like the shot that hit JFK
It's young jefe, ese, que p-a-s-a
What's happening, I'm in NY, the mecca of this shit
And I'm California Crooked, mic wrecker of this shit
Rock heavy metal like the Def Leopard of this shit
For the record I'm the shit, I'm as West as you can get
In the back of the cab I was rolling through Hollis, Queens
Where DMC's mama cooked chicken and collard greens
Then I went to Bedstuy where B.I.G. said it was all a dream
Next I hit BX to see what Kris Parker seen
Pardon me for speaking on music from back when
I was ten, chrome kickstand on a black Shwinn
Back then we cut cardboard to backspin
Then crack came in, started blasting the Mac-10
Joyriding GTAs, time to roll
Cops chased us, jump out, crashed it into a pole
Never had shit so we stole
Streets had me sewn up, stitched into the fabric of my soul
Put my life and soul forward and spit it for my niggas
Even if I didn't get figures I did it for my niggas
And I get sicker as licorice swimming in my liver
Sip the liquor 'til I piss a river
Spit it from the center of my stomach
Before I ever let my skills plummet
I kill a million MCs 'til I'm ill from it
Then I steal a hundred broads if niggas still want it
Drop you from a summit so high niggas feel blunted
Never lose my touch, with watermelons you can confuse my nuts
Kicking the hugest bump
Choose my whos, my whats, nigga use my guts
Like the mouth of useless sluts, your music sucks
So accolades come, Crooked get the lion's share
Mind of a scientist, I am there
You know a nigga rhymes rare
When you see a Eastside Long Beacher wearing a hundred carats in Times Square
With or without diamonds, Crooked stay shinin'
I'm uptown, Dodger jacket, suede lining
I'm all day grinding
Cause the music industry is like Americacn Idol
Record execs play Simon
'Til you learn how to rap don't tell me shit
Told ya'll it's Eastside LB bitch
C.O.B. family shall be rich
Wealthy, fuck trying to sell three zips
Rather push Shelbys and swell these chips
I won't fail me, I'm well equipped
With the gift God dealt me I'm not healthy
Way I spit, help me, I might as well be sick