Go... 

Yeah... you wanna know what this is my nigga 

(The creased khaki flow) 

The creased khaki flow ykno what I'm talking about, that gangsta shit, what 

else (the white tee spit) 

Yeah, I'm talking about a whole motherfuckin can of starch nigga 

(the creased khaki flow) 

And one crease comin down the middle of a white t-shirt yeah 

(the white tee spit) 



Crooked I's cold-blooded like I gotta Rick James degree 

I'm so rugged, switch lanes with me 

I'm so thuggish, ho's love it, flip change, live dangerously 

Only lames spit game for free 

You damn right this man writes his raps like his life's in a crisis 

And I'm twice as sick as Ms. Anne Rice is 

I stand right up squeezin the mic lifeless 

You might like my concise preciseness... like this 

Cats came in the rap game and claimin they crack slangin, the gat aimin 

In fact, they act just like Matt Damon 

Homie my gat'll slay men 

You cats say when and... blaow 

I roll up on your block then I blast 

Cops finna ask who shot you while you rockin an oxygen mask 

I hit the gas in the drop finna smash to the spot 

Got my glock locked in the stash spot in the dash 

My six cruise on big shoes 

I'm a lit fuse with sick views 

I got issues, I misuse... pistols 

Say we in combat, I spazmatic like a crazy Vietnam cat 



[Hook:] 

Yeah, crease your motherfuckin khakiz up 

Juice the batteries in your low-rider caddies up 

Chuck Taylors, white tees, slang cavy what 

These streets made me a trigger-happy nut 

Yeah, crease your motherfuckin khakiz up 

Juice the batteries in your low-rider caddies up 

White tees, Chuck Taylors, slang cavy what 

These streets made me a trigger-happy nut 



Yeah, it's young Crooked 

Yeah you had a leg but my pump took it 

Now you hip-hop cuz you one-footed 

I lick shots, drop, here comes bullets 

I leave scenes sick as Hitchcock 

News won't even run footage (tell em) 

I come hooded jus like a grim...reaper 

Slim... keeper, 9 double m heater 

Creepin in tha streets, deep in the seats of tha jeep 

Beatin new releases through 10 speakers 

It gets deeper 

I'm bringin that long beach feeling back 

See me on tha eastside where all of them killers at 

But my enemies don't wear raiders, saints, or even a steelers hat 

They wear a badge... how real is that? 

No matter what, ghetto life is still in my veins 

If you poverty-living, I know you feelin my pain 

I'm still sick in the brain, skill spit with such meticulous game 

Shoot ridiculous like Nicholas Van Exel 

Guess who's sexing your step-daughters 

A nigga who can draw glocks better than sketch-artists 

When I walk in the club, hug your ho 

Hustlers know, I'm nut-so with the thugsta flow 

Everything's open, nothing is closed 

Magazine's throwing me on them fuckin covers to pose 

Look at young papi, cocky, never sold one copy 

Gun cocked rocky, please come stop me 

So and so is cool, what's his name is aight 

Homeboy is okay, but Crooked I is tyte 

That's what's heard, that's my word, act absurd 

You cats get served cuz I rap disturbed 

I'm closing doors with the quickness 

I'm in the Pocanos poking hos hoping you don't poke your nose in my business haters 

I'm scopin those from a distance 

Relentless foes get a broken nose for persistence 

Absolutely, cats bringin gats to shoot me 

I even watch all them rats actin goofy 

Disguised as groupies, that's a doozy 

What's that bulge under your shirt? 

That's a uzi... excuse me 



[Hook] 



Yeah! Long Beach is back, I told y'all niggaz man 

I'm comin down Atlantic Ave. 

letting my paint drip on the motherfuckin street '61 rag 

ay style, we gonna get this money and buy the Queen Mary 5-6-2 

I told y'all 

Long Beach is ba-a-a-a-a-ACK! nigga! gyeah! 

Creased Khaki Flow...The White Tee Spit 

Jim Gittum...Crooked I 

C.O.B. til we di-i-ie