Who the Crunkest (feat. Project Pat)
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
(folks on the right.)
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
(people on the left.)
You know the time is tickin short, now I'm reachin for the vault
Grab them clothes that match the
night, and them things they call they aunt
Yes a nigga know I'm quiet, if you don't talk they think your soft
But I be quick to pull and blast and leave your body full of chalk
Never talk cause when you talk these hoes be all up in your biz
Bring the word up where you livin, all the shit a nigga did
Ho, I ain't did no fucking dirt or rolled no bodies in the trunk
I shipped some keys over seas, Medal flour mixed with funk
I call the police 911 "Their's been a murder on my set."
And when they pull up on my set, we pop them things and then we jet
On the low is how I keep it, if you want your blood to spill
Run your mouth off in the street, and pull your gun to shoot to kill
If you real, if you realer than a motherfucking gang
On the block is where you hang, throw them motherfucking thangs
Nigga, chopping up the cake. slinging rocks or pushing weight
Ghetto nigga's from the south, ain't no law that we can't break
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkestin this motherfucker?
What you know about going out, heading out, riding out, down south
Finding DJ Paul with the gold and diamonds in his mouth
Riding in the Rover with the bars and the broads in the cars behind me
Could you tell me how'd you find me
Rolex hanging up out the window shiny as hell
I must have gave myself away with my diamond bezzle{bling}
Sling the Rover in the garage cranking up the Caprice
Time to check up on my traps in the b-a-z([-busy) week
Zoners, hanging on corners slanging that marijuana
Ho we been known since we been gone good since this early morn
Biggity-bust them, dust them thinking we blood donors
In my hood, I'm like whats up with something that's on us
Grooving with the Hypnotize Camp Posse boys
Took my credit card, the Lexus, bought ten of them toys (ha, ha)
I got you thinking wishing you was thru with the Hypnotizers
But facing failure you can get the club crunk
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkestin this motherfucker
Knicky-knack paddywhack, automatic ghetto bust
Some say they down but they shady so in Glock I trust
I shall bust, if you in it mane, represent it mane
If it's all about that ghetty green then I'm with it mane
Understand where I'm coming from, out the ghetto slum
Project Pat, Tear Da Club Up Thugs out here slanging drugs
Making lame thugs bite the dust if they step to us
Ain't no need to cuss, even fuss, let that Ruger bust
If you real, you can keep it real, never fake the deal
If you gotta kill for your meal, then you handle that
In the street, the gat is a tool used for regulating
Popping off lead at your hat when you violating
Incriminating eyes when you see me passing in my Lex
Haters in disguise, don't you boot this killa to a test
Laid to rest, must have been your time for you to clock out
Had a vest but you should have had your fucking Glock out
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkestin this mother-
Who the crunkestin this motherfucker?
(folks on the right.)
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
(people on the left.)
You know the time is tickin short, now I'm reachin for the vault
Grab them clothes that match the
night, and them things they call they aunt
Yes a nigga know I'm quiet, if you don't talk they think your soft
But I be quick to pull and blast and leave your body full of chalk
Never talk cause when you talk these hoes be all up in your biz
Bring the word up where you livin, all the shit a nigga did
Ho, I ain't did no fucking dirt or rolled no bodies in the trunk
I shipped some keys over seas, Medal flour mixed with funk
I call the police 911 "Their's been a murder on my set."
And when they pull up on my set, we pop them things and then we jet
On the low is how I keep it, if you want your blood to spill
Run your mouth off in the street, and pull your gun to shoot to kill
If you real, if you realer than a motherfucking gang
On the block is where you hang, throw them motherfucking thangs
Nigga, chopping up the cake. slinging rocks or pushing weight
Ghetto nigga's from the south, ain't no law that we can't break
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkestin this motherfucker?
What you know about going out, heading out, riding out, down south
Finding DJ Paul with the gold and diamonds in his mouth
Riding in the Rover with the bars and the broads in the cars behind me
Could you tell me how'd you find me
Rolex hanging up out the window shiny as hell
I must have gave myself away with my diamond bezzle{bling}
Sling the Rover in the garage cranking up the Caprice
Time to check up on my traps in the b-a-z([-busy) week
Zoners, hanging on corners slanging that marijuana
Ho we been known since we been gone good since this early morn
Biggity-bust them, dust them thinking we blood donors
In my hood, I'm like whats up with something that's on us
Grooving with the Hypnotize Camp Posse boys
Took my credit card, the Lexus, bought ten of them toys (ha, ha)
I got you thinking wishing you was thru with the Hypnotizers
But facing failure you can get the club crunk
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkestin this motherfucker
Knicky-knack paddywhack, automatic ghetto bust
Some say they down but they shady so in Glock I trust
I shall bust, if you in it mane, represent it mane
If it's all about that ghetty green then I'm with it mane
Understand where I'm coming from, out the ghetto slum
Project Pat, Tear Da Club Up Thugs out here slanging drugs
Making lame thugs bite the dust if they step to us
Ain't no need to cuss, even fuss, let that Ruger bust
If you real, you can keep it real, never fake the deal
If you gotta kill for your meal, then you handle that
In the street, the gat is a tool used for regulating
Popping off lead at your hat when you violating
Incriminating eyes when you see me passing in my Lex
Haters in disguise, don't you boot this killa to a test
Laid to rest, must have been your time for you to clock out
Had a vest but you should have had your fucking Glock out
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkest in this motherfucker?
Who the crunkestin this mother-
Who the crunkestin this motherfucker?
Credits
Writer(s): Jordan Houston, Joe Cooley, Rodney Oliver, Jeff Page, Paul Beairegard, Pat Houston
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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