Crooks Brown

[Verse 1 - Crooks]
Nowadays niggas ain't crooks
They crooked, they corny
Rappers type wack on these beats
And they hooks all be boring
Losing the focus, flow, and the story
(Ahh but it's hard, G!) -Hardly-
My discard pile is large with the garbiage
(I look around and see real niggas!)
And I'm proud, I applaud 'em
But then I wake up and I'm pissed
'cause it was all a mirage
Augh, to my god I question hard: What is going on?
I'm 24 feeling like Cos'
Telling these young black kids to pull they pants up
Nigga getcha style back
Nigga how you stylejack a nigga
That just sylejacked a nigga?
Shit is wild
You a thrice wack nigga
I'ma pray for you
'fore you could sell your soul
You fucked around and lost the paper
Now the machine you a slave to
Meanwhile my threads is blade-proof
And my foundation stable
So you can rock the boat
But you can never flip the table
My flow is a hole in one like Bagger Vance
But the fact that you bobbin' ya head
Is a case in point that this magic is not a fable
I'ma muhfuckin' legend (legend, legend...)
Throw the echoes in to add reverence
You the man if the man and his package just got the severance
You pussy like open wounds and infections festerin'
Dead it-

With confidence, how I said it
Unconscious shit like a sedative
Deep in ya thoughts like a meditive- meditative
My ohms is unrelated, that's power
They say that no man should have it solo
But I'm still facing weed dolo
Blow tho, by the o-z and the smoke ring
Like Frodo and a cholo
'Cause I'm lowdown with the cold lean
Vice P-A, R-K-E-R
Tell my girl I been bad again
Tryna smack that ass red again
No drawers in my bed again
Pussy wet in my bed again
God bless the two x's, man
It's nothing in comparison
Except to breathe the same air I'm in
Ladyfriend say I'm arrogant
Obvious shit's apparent, man
I wouldn't box my shadow on the brightest day

[Verse 2 - Brown]
Now, for the record, I hold this pen limply
'Cause this bottle is half empty
Told God I needed releases
But he ain't answer, neither did Jesus
So I cave in and I feed my weakness with spirits:
Brown liquor for a down brown nigga
Fuck shots, chug bottles
The sorrows'll drown quicker
Tomorrow you'll feel like shit
But a bottle of Crown'll fix ya
And Lord, I'm well aware that this saucin' ain't smart
But God, do you notice my heart?
Notice that it lies here in parts
And I know this whiskey won't hold it
But sobriety feels corrosive
Ain't in no mood to be in control
So I let this brandy hold me closely
She keep me warm, she quells my worries
She guides my pen, as it tells my stories
Man, these ain't tear stains
I spilled drank on my rhyme book
That's amber brown on my rhyme book
The liquor mixing with the ink and the flow fluid
When I'm penning down this here brown liquor music
Yeah, the liquor mixing with the ink and the flow fluid
When I'm penning down this here brown liquor music
Yeah, the liquor mixing with the ink and the flow fluid
When I'm penning down this here BROWN