☆ Toronto Raptors

[Intro: Crooked & E.G.]
Hell mothafuckin yeah!
E.G.
I bet you didn’t know
I thought you knew
Yeah I bet you didn’t know
Yeah, Tell ’em though
What You Thought you knew about me?

[Verse 1: Crooked I]
Niggaz think they know me, see me in traffic
Yeah I’m Mr. Rapper,
But I’m Mr. Jacker, Mr. Youngpistolpacker
One shot should lack ya
Frag to your physical and crack ya
I shoot faster than a Toronto Raptor
And please don’t judge me from the ra-di-o
Try to play me like I’m CBS, I’m HBO
I’m crazy yo, Rated R with the crazy flow
I hear the same shit every place he go
„Man Crooked only rap about money,
only rap about guns, only rap about sluts“
wrap your mouth around some nuts
We from Tha Row we don’t say our shit clean
So fuck you A&R’s, we carry AR-15’s
You gotta reach the pages thats beneath the covers
I got a foul mouth but I respect peoples mothers
And I don’t need yo punk ass police to judge us
All we need is for the streets to love us
But I bet you didn’t know

[Hook:]
What, What, What, What, What, What, What
Thought they knew about me
What, What, What, What, What, What, What
Thought they knew about me

[Verse 2: Eastwood]
Me and my life, through these wicked streets
The hard times made a nigga clock his G’s
From Cali to Overseas
I’m a beast, the beat chopper
East, the heat luncher
with an intellect my frame to cock and let it pop ya
Can’t stop the unstopable
Competition impossible
I’m leavin you weanie niggaz flatline in the hospital
Situation critical, that he say, she say
Or get that ass done in an alley we say
I’m a Boss Baller, On Tha Row, A Shot Caller
E.G., Crooked I and the Wood, we slick talkers
Uncle Curtis got some bad hoes
And Uncle Bucky got some bad dope,
let’s put it in a mix and smoke
The E-A-S-T-W-O-O-D
So why they hate me, it’s crazy
Cause I came from a dysfunctional family
My life deserves a grammy
Coward niggaz kick rocks
for that ass get popped
stomped out and dropped
So what you thought nigga?

[Hook 2:]
But you really don’t
You really don’t know about me (Oh yeah, yeah)
But you really don’t
You really don’t know about me

[Verse 3: E.G.]
You thought you knew, what you knew
But you don’t know me homie
You thought you seen, what you saw
But you can’t see me homie
The Fed’s watchin my words
Cause they don’t like what they heard
A black man with some knowledge
But they got nothin on me
I dropped the sack a long time ago
And pit up the mic
So got some game from uncle Bucky,
And now I’m tight
On the streets to the stage
you don’t know about me
I did the same pimp game
And now I’m readin bout it
From the streets of KC to the CPT
Shook up the hood and hollywood
and now I’m on TV
You can’t see a nigga like E.G.
I’m here to set your bitch asses free
Here till i got it deep
Get On your knees and say please, please, please
Like James Brown
Even stanks in your mothafuckin draws
Gone with jiggle on my balls
And walk heads down the hall