Atmosphere - Crewed Up lyrics

rate me

They call me Bad Lieutenant when my eyes are squinted

Child of the 70s and the 80s was in it

Lost the first homeboy in the 9-0 and liable

To get the gun buckin at 5-0, I'm tribal

I'm from a place where the *niggas* are jelly

And pretend to be your friend and put one your belly

And you can keep on yelling, the cops won't come

You want beef, we got burgers and then some

We from the era when we learned on our own

Runnin wild in the streets with both parents at home

Kind of hard to find a young un alone - caused we was crewed up

Taggin on the walls taught wars and getting chewed up

Now I don't know about y'all, but I'm bout to make a small fortune

By taking small things and blowing em out of proportion

Using sarcasm as my second language

Look mom I'm famous, I mean I'm flagrant

You say you write your best rhymes when you high

I say I write my best rhymes cause I'm fly

This is why I'm cold, I'm Minnesota nice

If you want my CD I will give you special price

Haha, take Trummond's advice

St. Paul Slim the best homie, none of its hype

So please lil asshole, keep your mouth closed

'Fore your momma be like "Look at my son, he out cold"

You could tell I'm focused by the look in my eye

You could see I'm dirty by how clean my kicks is

You know I tell the truth, I got no reason to lie

Hey, like I tell my chicks "You ain't got a lotta kick it"

All I'm trynna do is get a piece of the pie

And turn these bricks into a legit business

Now run along and go home to your wives

And leave me and Slug here to play with these bitches

You know I spit the sickest sickness since syphilis

Mixed with malaria, fuck it, the more the merrier

B-Boy, D-Boy, yep I'm in your area

Muja Messiah uh huh, hello America

Yo, yo, y'all wack, yo what the fuck is new?

I'm back wit Atmos and the crew

To do this you need style, I thought you knew

It's not a diss, yo it's just my point of view

Maybe if I turn sideways, y'all *niggas* will

Throw lyrics my way instead of the highway

Now getting ran over by cars and Land Rovers

We starred, you sub par, maybe send your man over

Pardon, you gon' step to this

Spit phat, not anorexic shit

Come stacked boy, it ain't no need to go there

I knock rappers out, y'all scratch and pull hair

I hustle hard for the love of god

My life has been the biggest struggle for the bloody start

I knuckle up and throw the hands of my thug at heart

So when the shit hit the fan I don't come apart, I breathe and shrug it off

Atmosphere - the Big Brother's big brothers

Catch is here to turn king to wrist cutters

Just trust it ain't no regular shit

That's a polite asshole and a sensitive pimp

You would think it was a party, not a Cadillac

Church mosque, have a knack

Dr. Dre Training Day rappers don't know how to act

Remove em all from my sight like a cataract

Poof! It's a magic act

Walk over beats like DMC, three stripes

Leaver be three strikes, visa need three swipes

DVDs, jeans clean, cuts brush dandruff

Mobile phones, suited loan, courted blown pampers

Chilling at the party in B-Boy stance

And they looking at me funny, why? Cause they can't dance

So I'm cutting up and shutting up, I'm buttercup but just enough

To lean on top of this metropolis with binoculars

Walk like a pimp, think like a Macintosh

Battle scars, also trynna figure out your avatar

Leave the cameras on, told ya partner that he can't perform

Brought a torch to burn the building, he think I'ma hand it to him

Yeah, yeah, I solemnly swear

To fight the good fight as long as I'm here

But sometimes the good fight don't seem fair

Cause all the best soldiers we had ain't here

They gone now, we all on our own now

And most of those left ain't got no style

You give em an inch they try to take a whole mile

Too overconfident to keep a low profile

Pump your brakes, stay in your lane

A bunch of fakes chasing fame

I'll punch your face and take your chain

Sit your 5 dollar ass down before I make change

Break these chips down, count your business

Ain't nothing free, it's a James Brown Christmas

So god bless the underground now and give it

To the sound of the drums while none of us outlive it

I treat Hip Hop like a sport

Stay on my game, put my time on the court

While you complain and get high some more

Might explain why your team can't find support

Now catch me in the back wit a whisky

Chattin up a missy like I'm attractive and witty

I have to dip to do my raps and get busy

Why don't you come see me when I'm back in your city?