2nd Coming (Tuck Ya Ice)

Hip Hop Weekly, C.O.B
Circle of Bosses, Crooked I, thanks for fucking with me
You know what it is, hip hop is my mother
Gangsta rap is my father, C.O.B. is my religion
I am the president of ghetto America, yes
I am the poster boy for section 8
I am the leader of the I came from nothing campaign
Let's start off slow

When your album dropping? That's what they all say
Check the pulse on the streets, they saying it everyday
Niggas getting mad, say I'm losing fans
As if going through bullshit was part of my plans
They know I'm street money, they say the nigga's paid
They see the diamonds in the chain, they think I got it made
You one of the hottest with the flow as far as artists go
My penitentiary niggas say I got the hardest flow
I got a heart of gold, but now my heart is cold
Because these mean streets'll eat right through your heart and soul
What do you know about sleeping in an abandoned house? (nothing)
What do you know about beefing with them hammers out? (nothing)
Here's whats the man's about
I shot the belly of the beast with hollow tips
Until he spit me out of his savage mouth
From watching my mouth move to death they know I sound tight
My words paint pictures, that's how my blind listeners found sight
When this reciter's around mics
This profound writer mystifies cyphers
Just like lightning striking the ground twice
I'm on some other shit like attacking Henny for the fuck of it
Stacking pennies up to buy my mother whips
Greatest rapper alive, words from my mother's lips
You don't believe her then her son'll tell you suck a dick
There go that dropout nigga, he in a Bentley coupe
There go that welfare kid in that Armani suit
The first time they rode on me, yeah I was afraid to shoot
The second time I let my pistol whistle like a flute
Out west they wondering who's the hottest rapper, right
Here's some ammunition for niggas who defending my side
With skills I'm overdosing even with no promotion
I stand on my own two, Bobbito locomotion
You niggas over boasting, I see you just like view over ocean
Nigga my flow is frozen
You can ice skate on my 16s, nigga wait
Subtract half of that, it don't matter, it's still a figure 8

Yeah, I'm done with you niggas
You know the figure 8 joint they do on the motherfucking...
Fuck it

As a baby I sent lyrical signals through the umbilical
Ghostwrote my mother's poetry, even she knew that I'd grow to be
A dope MC, with lyrics in the womb
Meaning your doom, engineered in a cocoon with my fearlessness in bloom
When I spit even the dead hear it in a tomb
So when I'm spilling lyrics, I'm feeling spirits in the room
What up Pac? What up B.I.G.? What up my nigga Pun?
Eazy E, what up loc? Big L, what up son?
Yeah, I met Freaky Tah, yo what up dunn?
Left Eye was my homegirl, what up hun?
Everyone of 'em will tell you Crooked goes hard
Stay tuned, coming soon my rap report card

Double up on 'em
C.O.B. or nothing
Yeah
Hip Hop motherfucking Weekly, the double up
I see people like Oprah and Al Sharpton
Look like you all setting booby traps for rap
I'm so gangsta, ha ha
Yeah, hip hop won't die
Gangsta rap is breathing, ya heard me, yeah

This that motherfucking slow flow like it or not
I'll put my stage on the corner, put my mic on the block
If it's for this rap shit, give my life on the spot
If it's for the revolution man I'll sniper a cop
Mafia, got a Gotti agenda
Do you think I give a fuck about Oprah or her audience members?
Hip hop is in my blood, nigga you probably remember
They attacked us before, didn't nobody surrender
Art imitates life haters, this is the deal
Dying of thirst in the desert, I wouldn't piss in your grill
Ain't a rap song on Earth that makes a listener kill
I'm just here to tell you how us ghetto prisoners feel
Ain't it funny how society's trying to bang on us
When there's schools that's named after some fucking slave owners
They historical heroes had the noose to hang on us
Now they mad at what I'm playing while my Chevy swing corners
What about violent movies?
Say I'm disrespecting women when rock n' roll invented the groupie
Better save that shit for Gucci
When I was in Milan I saw one of the models damn-near showing her coochie
Don't put prostitutes in my lyrical flows
But there was hookers in the bible, there was biblical hoes
My recital strictly based on what a criminal knows
Take a walk through my hood, watch you shit in your clothes
Try to blame us young niggas for this cocaine
FBI, CIA those are your planes
Junkies fucking with the shit to heal their own pain
You fund wars but me I'm just buying gold chains
And how am I a misogynist, nigga if I call a bitch a bitch
Believe that the bitch is a bitch
Yeah, some niggas killed my homie, I'm trying to find the suckers
All started with this bitch, he was trying to fuck her, he was dying to fuck her
Then he died when them niggas came inside with them nines going blucka blucka
They killed him for his money, just wanted to sex her
Stupid bitch set him up and I'm supposed to respect her
Fuck it, call a bitch a bitch when I spit on the record
If it's spotted with a long tail it must be a leopard
Don Imus called some women some hoes
That he didn't even know so they snatched his show
But if I call a woman a ho, best believe a nigga know
She selling pussy in exchange for that dough
Now let's talk about Virginia Tech
And the media's blatant disrespect for the family of the victims for a bigger check
Ban gangsta rap from MTV but you're showing Choon Seung-Hui on NBC
Whoever ran the footage we should body that nigga
Cause he probably gave birth to some copycat killers
Probably just spawned some young cocky cap peelers
Blood is on your hands when them body bags fill up
And you trying to shift the blame to hip hop
I say hip hop hooray just like back in the day
When they censor Public Enemy and N.W.A
Tipper Gore wanted to censor every record we play
I'm a motherfucking gangsta on your radio channel
Hypocrites want to ban me but they love the Sopranos
Better pull that Constitution out, read 'em and weep
Let's look at the first ammendment man, it say freedom of speech
Next week