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lirik lagu get it easy – kxng crooked

[intro]
the weeklys, we back
what’s hatnin’ dizz?
my brother dizz made this
the weeklys, yeah shout out my dude diabetic
big eddie green, ya’mean?
we back (you hearin’)
with 206 problem (what’s hatnin?)
it’s the weeklys, mayan oracle
ghost music one, evil bike rider, yo
(let’s get to it)

[verse 1]
yeah, i got a couple of bad b-tches in calabasas
thick as a gl-ss of mol-sses and clappin’ -sses
makin’ advances, dancin’ like that’s a cl-ssic
p-ssy lookin’ for dictators, that -ss a fascist
hit it ’til her back tired, she poppin’ a wheelie
they know me in new york, n-gga poppin’ in philly
some try not to give me my props, i’m not knockin’ ’em silly
i’m the goat in wolf’s clothin’, you rockin’ with billy
don’t try to play me out my millies, i’m not a vanilli
n-ggas steppin’ to me wrong, i’ma pop his achilles
i f-ck with s-xy nerds, i don’t f-ck with ghetto birds
not even police helicopters on top of my city (yo)

[chorus]
get it easy, get it easy
let’s get the money
make it easy, make it easy
let’s make the money
get it easy, get it easy
let’s get the money
make it easy, make it easy
let’s make the money

[verse 2]
i got a couple of bad b-tches, they live in compton
kinda chicks that get bags wit’cha, i hit ’em often
we about gettin’ mad riches, we into bossin’
’63 with the rag missin’, we into flossin’
.44 with the mag clippin’, we into caution
might blast ’cause -ss kickin’, that sh-t exhaustin’
pull it out and they -ss kissin’, you n-ggas lost in the sauce
leave your swag drippin’ right in a coffin
and still i don’t know why we just can’t get along
pray for the day i can come out without my pistol on
ridin’ up crenshaw boulevard, got my system on
sittin’ on factory rims, jammin’ like this my song
energy vibratin’ higher when i am in my zone
consciously livin’ the moment for all my n-ggas gone
spirit atoned, sit on my throne, gettin’ my own, switchin’ my tone
but sinners are gon’ sin, so i’m still feelin’ on silicon
like, “jerome’s in the house,” b-tch, i’m on
i’m in the ha-ah-house, the pimp is home
i’m like a 2pac poem, yeah, that’s the tip i’m on
the rows that grew from the concrete, the realest known

[outro]
yeah (yeah)
the weeklys, you already know
family business in this motherf-cka
(what up? you know i mean? yeah)
yo, r-i-p to my homeboy nate dogg, you know i’m sayin?
i miss you nate, i miss all them times we used to sit at cal bowl
drinkin’ a motherf-ckin’ fifth of hennessy, you know?
rest in peace (yeah)
(the weeklys)
yo, i smell smoke, what’s that i smell?
oh, we been doin’ this
where the smoke at? (hahaha)
(it ain’t even smoke no more)
bark at your dog, ay, aktive let’s get the f-ck outta here

- kxng crooked

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