Lyrics:

[Verse 1: Crooked I]

I got the motherfuckin' McLaren that's 500 grand
Make it rain your retirement plan
You want [?] like these you got to fly to Japan
C.O.B. is a religion, Crooked I is a brand
The streets make you hot, check the temperature
Word on the block, I'm the Western emperor
Few niggas hatin', at best your miniature
My necklace injure your pride, the tech'll finish ya
I stalk you all day extra sinister
Pray on niggas all night like a restless minister
I don't care when you bastards get crazy
Grab it, squeeze it, blast the shit baby
Why you give 'em a clap with the .380?
Answer, I learned it in class with Dick Cheney
Coppers can't catch me, I don't care if you're Sherlock
I'm smart enough to outfox Rupert Murdoch
Man just putting words together
At my worst I'm better, you don't earn your cheddar
All you ringtone rappers, you birds of a feather
Making collabos flocking together sounding worse than ever
I'm rocking Berettas, pop at your sweater
So many times you transform like Optimus never
Change your description for trying to reach
I'm the president of the Beach that they try to impeach
In society they expect me to die in the streets
I thank God when I'm in my Benz driver seat
Lot of people they tell me I'm the illest rapper alive
But they really don't know I'm the realest rapper alive
In your hood by myself will this rapper survive?
If I'm fucking with you then you feel this rapper for life, right
If I'm fucking with you then you feel this rapper for life, right
C.O.B., cannons in a nigga's lap
LBC, Dodger on a fitted cap
Lot of niggas is wack, they should get a brrap
Haha they should get a brrap
C.O.B., cannons in a nigga's lap
LBC, Dodger on a fitted cap
Lot of niggas is wack, you should get a brrap
Haha you should get a brrap