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Mr Criminal - West Coast Most Lyrics

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  • The number one independent label killin’ ‘em in the game…
  • Independent…
  • You’re now tuned into the number one,
  • Latin rap artist in the Chicano rap industry…
  • Ha-ha…number one on the Billboards…
  • Number one on the streets, and number one with the sales…
  • Ha-ha, who the ***** you think you talkin’ to…
  • [Verse 1]
  • Who the ***** you think you talkin’ to,
  • you done *****ed up homie now the talk is through.
  • The streets ***** with real Gs, they don’t ***** with you,
  • in the streets, in the avenue, they bumpin’ who?
  • That Mr. Criminal shit, number one, they feelin’ me trick,
  • boss of all bosses, foos be on some silly shit,
  • that young, brown and dangerous album,
  • homie, this really hits, economy crash,
  • foos still lining up in this recession *****.
  • Hs up worldwide, thank you for the purchase,
  • foos be on some ***** shit so I clown they ass on purpose.
  • What happened to the days of real tracks and real raps,
  • The Internet came, flooded the game, and killed that.
  • All these MySpace rappers came out overnight,
  • begging for a deal from the label, pathetic, right?
  • No skills having mother*****ers get no credit, like,
  • so they get on Twitter talkin’ shit, jealous every night.
  • What kind of sideways ***** shit is that?
  • Mother*****ers turning fatal trying to click up with the cat,
  • but these half-ass, *****, wanna-be rappers get no dap,
  • and now, all of sudden, they bosses comin’ up, what kind of shit is that?
  • Foos couldn’t hang with that G shit, no shows rocked,
  • now you see them rockin’ skinny jeans and Mohawks.
  • Other fools fell off the game, no love lost,
  • Plucked out the game like they eyebrows, no love lost,
  • I’m from the home of the gangbang and gunshots,
  • foos be on some candy shit, like bubblegum drops,
  • flow’s watered down, they get no love, not from the brown,
  • they got no fans local, they mines, worldwide, all around.
  • (Spanish?), the flows I spit is lethal, ***** a sequel,
  • if you trip, I’ll put you in the ground beneath you.
  • I’m sick with it, I get explicit, the triple x rapper,
  • ???????????????????? I’m a triple treat
  • these foos ain’t ready for war, so don’t even test,
  • homies from the varrio back my plaques, so come see me yes,
  • I’m a Westsider like Tupac, California love coming out of the rooftop,
  • And I just might be, one of the sickest Latin rappers on the microphone,
  • Foos really need to leave the mic alone,
  • my homies tell me Mr. Criminal, dogg, you killing ‘em homes,
  • almost satisfied but not quite yet,
  • there’s still a hole that needs to be filled, ***** it,
  • it’s a cheap thrill to hit the game every year and give their ass a refill,
  • I gotta tell the truth, if not the streets will,
  • I guess that’s why their wack ass shit lookin’ weak still

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