Real Muthafuckin’ G’z (Week 19)

[Verse 1: Crooked I]
Motherfuck a battle
My gat'll rattle niggas for the babble
Let's leave that wordplay shit for Scrabble
I let my hammers pass judgement on you like a gavel
Your life'll unravel before you eyes, your body travels
Six feet beneath gravel, a tough crime to tackle
Homicide detectives left baffled
Wait, they want to get it cracking, let it crackle
We can grapple until I'm grabbing your adam's apple
And making apple-flavored Snapple
Life's a bitch and a gamble
Why you think I married her in a Las Vegas chapel?
I'm shitting every week
My streak made of creek for which MCs have no paddle
You dudes are so fragile
I was underground, you was biting my shit
I was getting my money right, quiet biting my lip
I don't gotta take your flow or your style to Maury Povich
I am the father, I already know bitch
Hands off of my dope spit
Or you'll be talking like this the rest of your life
From getting your fucking throat slit
Mind power flex the largest muscle
Number one draft pick like JaMarcus Russell
Fuck a pen, fuck a pad, disregard the huddle
March a hundred yards off the head and start some trouble
When it's dark I hustle, firearm in a Phat Farm
I'm working hard as Russell, bringing art to struggle
When I start to bubble I'm charging double
Don't get it mixed up like a jigsaw puzzle, cuzzo
Dear Crooked i critics if my lyrics haven't hit you
Try on week 19, maybe these will fit you
Crooked is the big news
Put that on Yaweh, Allah and Vishnu
You wish you could diss dude
You know he give you real talk in them interviews
Shit so real he put the readers in his tennis shoes
Flow so cold he put the listeners in winter boots
Feel his pistol whistle like the wind when it's in a flute
You can't count how many how many rhymes a thug's rocking
I show you so many bars you think you club-hopping
And these bars are open, that's why my buzz popping
FYI you haters, yeah I'm gun shopping
You want to know what I bought, go google Kalashnikov
Get the 'K when you piss me off
Damn that AK's strong enough to lift your loft
You nigga's soft, me I'm torn from a different cloth
Top shotters relate, let it be known on this day
August the 8th, I'm the head of my state
Wait