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Hip Hop Sweat Shop

by Crackhouse

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about

This album was made in a Hip Hop Sweat Shop inside of a Crackhouse. Enjoy.

credits

released 21 July 2013

Cris Taylor: Rapper/Producer
Conrad Diaz: Rapper
Greg Kirby: Rapper/Producer
Will Hassed: Rapper
D.J. Wallace: Rapper
Patrick Tucker: Rapper/Producer
Lauren Cross: Photographer of mixtape pictures and proud supporter.
Special Thanks To: Bondax for the song (All Inside) that we used for "Silent Success", Corey Miller/SVNDAZE for the beat to "Cut Loose", Purity Ring for the song (Lofiticries) that we used for "Invictus", Taylor Valentine for the beats to "12 Quotas" and "Royal Slumber", Slim Thug's song (Everyday) that we used for "WIll Flow", Sub Zero's beat (Solo Dolo) for "Crackhouse Flow Pt-5.", Jocca Shot's beat (U.O.E.N.O.) that we used for "You Do Not Even Know", Mayday's beat (Last Minute Trip) that we used for "Last Minute Trip" Austin Sinclair (Proud Supporter), Corey Nawrocki (Proud Supporter), Justin Goodwin (Proud Supporter), Jason Medina (Proud Supporter)

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Track Name: Invictus
[Hook: Classic Cris and Deejay]

If it ain't about them Crackheads
We don't give a fuck about it nah
If it ain't about them Crackheads
We don't give a fuck about it nah
On the road to be invincible
Invictus, ain't defeat possible, yeah
On the road to be invincible
Invictus, ain't shit impossible, yeah

[Verse 1: Deejay]

Breathe, while I vent right quick
My only fear in life is that I probably get rich
Then spend it all on the spot for my moms
Take care of my sis, treat my girls like stars
Room full of hoes just me and my bros
Buddha G on the way so we bout to get throwed
Stunt, on all that bitches that dissed me
Fuck 'em good to the weekend and make 'em miss me
Head to the spot take my niggas out the bricks
Remember rolling round with a truck full of bricks
Eyes low, looking for the cops
Cuz we see the flashing lights ain't no way we finna stop
Told these hating niggas we was coming for the top
And on the way there aiming for you niggas tops
Honestly, this shit ain't easy
Spend hours on these rhymes, trying to appeal thee
Second sense of the audience they said they feel me
To think I let you down hurts, really kinda kills me
'Til the day I go all these mother fuckers kill me
Going hard like a juice box can't feel me
Like the streets want a nigga dead I'm on the block
Cuz a nigga got money heating up a pot
Real ass cars, that's on boss
Never drop a fucking bar if it ain't from heart
Long nights so we pop a couple pills
If real had a cost all you niggas getting billed
Blunts in the air for the ones who said I kill beats
On my third strike not running so don't kill me
God forbid it happen but I know you demons out for me
That's why I pray at night and every time before a nigga eat
Wrote this in ten you niggas gotta feel me
Laced it in fire Crack coming for your building

[Verse 2: Classic Cris]

I don't even know how to not kill it
Put my heart in every song I hope that you can feel it
Crack in the building
Still the illest in the city
Say alotta stupid sit but I ain't ever kidding
When I'm bragging bout my crew man we coming up
Never waste a minute even when we fucked up
I don't wanna sound stuck up but we the best
Fuck your dress code my bars are coming for your neck
You can't stop me I'm Fonzy on ex
A silent success haven't been discovered yet
This is, passion, speaking we got it next
Bump it, through your, speakers you know we next
Raised humble never overconfident
But classic invictus can't put this king in check
Flashy ass business I'm over this rap
An artist of bars put a frame on my tracks
Give my all so I ball and they'll be on my balls
This music is stress but the streets out control
They use you consume you 'til your heart is lost
Rather go insane from chasing it all
You could never understand this feeling that I get
When I rip shit with my clique, so sick,
Hot fire roasted, posted
Next to the ocean, looking soulless
What you don't know is
I'm thinking bout a couple ways to put my crew on,
Get my stu on, get a fucking move on
We ain't got time for whatever you on
Relax, no fuck that man I'm too gone
Going off, too determined to fold
Showing off, so determined to blow up
Ya know what I don't even smoke but roll up
Classic, invincible, check the toes bruh

[Hook: Classic Cris and Deejay]

If it ain't about them Crackheads
We don't give a fuck about it nah
If it ain't about them Crackheads
We don't give a fuck about it nah
On the road to be invincible
Invictus, ain't defeat possible, yeah
On the road to be invincible
Invictus, ain't shit impossible, yeah

[Verse 3: Deejay and Classic Cris]

Scream Deejay you can call me Deejay
Crackhouse through your speakers put that shit on replay
Beasting these beats another ether for Pete's sake
Reason they're heating their pieces like D day
Fools play, all my niggas get paid
Pussy magnet, all my niggas get laid
Ron Jeremy dick, money Bill Gates
All over the track pass the mic rap relay
For Pete's sake never meant to bust in your face
Chucks laced like I'm getting ready for a race
Got the torch, holding on to first place
After that eating rappers without even sayin' grace
Get ate, shit you out no trace
I'm cool, motha fuck what you think
Don't you feel defeated, last in the paper chase?
I'm your worst enemy fat bitch stair case
Packin heat, bars in the suitcase
Take yo bitch, play the bitch call it 2k
That's too great, I'm Tupac in new days
Fuck what your crew say, you're Perez, you're too gay
Killing everything Classic Cris Dorner
Rap game fucked up we here to reforge it
Burn down everything cleanse and restore it
The Crackhouse movement, it'll be historic
Track Name: Last Minute Trip
[Verse 1: GK Paypastaks]

Last minute trip, this my last minute lifeline
Last in the race, but the marathon is lifetime
Better step your game up, before you hit the sideline
So I dont need a raise, I just need to buy time
Paint a vivid picture but be suspicious
Of which of these figures you claim to be
Dis-memeber your favorite team
And just eminate what's a G
High - elevate, crusing free, they're irrelavant
'til you D-I-E, rest your Ey-es
The flights free - some right green
Take out the IV, goodnight me, politely
Coughed to get high, now Im high in a coffin
Commit a crime, I only lie when they chalk me
Forget the rhymes when I'm talking to you
Sublime is an option
Not subliminal, worse than criminal
Even if your name was Max, you'd be minimal
Write this shit straight from the grave
I call it biblical
Took the long route, my trip just wasnt
Visable

[Verse 2: Classic Cris]
Leave your heart home, bring your fat ass
Bring your stupid girlfriends we gon have a kickback
I got that liquor, Greg got that green
Tell me right now bitch what else do you need
I like whiskey, I like big titties
I like the fact that the Crack run the city
Loungin in the house, Justin you can walk
You can run your ass home 50 mothafuckin blocks
Classic (what up) some say that you reckless (huh?)
Well I don't give a fuck man Im eatin candy for breakfast
Reeses puffs they try and tell me that its cereal
Then why the fucks it so delicious bitch im curious
Last minute trippin adventure time cookie crisping
Im smokin Im sippin liquor its potent I'm overdosing
So ... pour up hope you're all packed
It's just a last minute trip and we ain't coming back
Track Name: You Do Not Even Know
I'm smoking on the finest
That Miranda Kerr Kush
I'm eating like piranhas
Going hard, Reggie Bush
I kill the track, Hernandez
You bumping this with your grandkids
And you bitching in the kitchen
While I'm finger licking this chicken
Cristol is what I'm sipping
44's is what I'm tipping
I'm too good I'm Christian
Why you suck? You Ponder
Your mind begins to wonder
I'm just posted in my lawn chair
This life you don't even know
And like I said before
I kill the track, Hernandez
You still bumping this with your grandkids
They bumping this in Atlantis
I feel the funk so I'm dancing
Turn up the volume and let loose
8th of shrooms and some of that juice
We all just pandas eating bamboo
Black and white and rainbows too
Sacrifice to make what you
Kick back, relax, and get turnt to
Fly as Mary Poppins umbrells
Ya gonna see our holograms at Coachella
I'm nastier than Cruella
De Vil's state of mind
With dalmatians locked in the cellar
After snorting a line
And after

(Hook)

[3rd Verse: Classic Cris]

I done popped a pill, Im gon crazy now
I was a fan, I killt Jay-z nahhh
Thats disrespect but Im breaking necks with the set I rep
(So check that shit) That's Crackhouse hoe
Thats a household name, got you in a chokehold
That's a household hoe in the backseat throwing signs
out the window that you don't even know
And you ain't never learn, turnt up off that wine at church
Rap bout my dicks thats a Classic verse
Pic of my dick in yo bitches purse
Ayyy .. Im faded
Codeine on my pancakes, Do drugs for my fans sake
Then I eat the beat like some crab cakes
Im Pacquiao on adderall, whack rappers I cant stand you all
You blackout drunk you bound to fall (off)
Fuckin nerds Ill bash you all
Mastermind with downs syndrome, homer simpson when I be spittin
Goin dummy on you bummy bitches,
diss me I cant listen cuz I'm ...

(Hook)
Track Name: Silent Success
[Verse 1: Classic Cris]

No point in wishful thinkin, know theres better ways to waste my time
Especially cuz Im the one who frowns upon a wasteful mind
Ill get up on my grind, and leave it in the hands of time
My trust in God is strong so now Ill put this stress up in these rhymes
The realest shit I wrote its keepin me from sleepin now
But whats it matter the value of an honest rhyme is cheaper now
Hard to live up expectation cuz they wanna keep you down
Dreams in safer places long as they exist Ill be around
Celebrate success, lets go buy a 30 rack
but thats a number I wont see in fact and actually
I think Ill live it up with the time I have so please
Dont talk to me about the drama gossip sorts of things
That wont obtain me money, shove it with shovels down your throat
Different type of levels, offered by devils, turn me up
Cuz fire's quiet changing lives whille you are sleepin hoe
I be graspin dreams reality is what yall reachin for
Track Name: 12 Quotas
[Hook: Classic Cris]

1 dick, 2 balls, 3 eyes, 4
At the liquor store with 12 quarters for the colt
1 dick, 2 balls, 3 eyes, 4
At the liquor store with 12 quarters for the colt

[Verse 1: Classic Cris]

Rest in peace Ms. Lees where my money used to go
Got me drunk as mother fuck with a couple of my bros
Now I'm swagging shining bright like a diamond
Got that hot fire man I'm looking like I'm Dylan
Next mother fucker come close get choked
Rompompumsting bumbaclot on you hoes
Condoms, magnum, not talkin' bout that P.I.
I'm high no me high, I'm fustin no juck him
Let's move on to something more useful like muffins
We camping at Fargos you looking like something
I don't like to diss dudes, but y'all sound like bitches
Rather pull my dick out, hang it in the kitchen
Telling her to eat it, like I'm a dietician
Then she make it disappear like she was a magician
Oh Classic Cris is so fucking nasty
Tell your friends spread the word like ass cheeks

[Hook: Classic Cris]

1 dick, 2 balls, 3 eyes, 4
At the liquor store with 12 quarters for the colt
1 dick, 2 balls, 3 eyes, 4
At the liquor store with 12 quarters for the colt

[Verse 2: CJ]

Mary Jane just loves me they can't break her down like i do
Lyrical murderers they don't sell our shit on iTunes
Got these bitches jumping like they sitting on a hot stool
Fucking better bitches the one you with is in high school
If you talking dirty better believe we will find you
Chop you up and feed you to my dogs they won't find who
Did it then hid it I'm just sick or maybe I got the flu
I don't know I'm going crazy my nigga I wonder too
What if Im possessed and I just murder all the industry
All I see is swag fags and all these damn mini me's
Easily influenced I can't let that shit get into me
Everybody hating on the Crack I feed off energy
No one above the crew my nigga we are the centerpiece
If you're number 1 why you hating its still a mystery
Had to get a new email cuz it couldn't even fit a g
Drinking so much whiskey they be thinking I'm from Tennessee


[Hook: Classic Cris]

1 dick, 2 balls, 3 eyes, 4
At the liquor store with 12 quarters for the colt
1 dick, 2 balls, 3 eyes, 4
At the liquor store with 12 quarters for the colt

[Verse 3: GK Paypastaks]

We lapping the track and they sitting roadside
Mechanical sabotaging the beat and it is so fried
So fly, so sick, bird flu, nose dive. Oh shit
Here he comes delirious
Flow designed to be furious
Faster than all 6 K's Justin had sent to us
Venomous, split her legs like I'm adjusting antennas
I'm venting cold hearted like Kevin froze in the polar caps
Notice that we don't fuck around like orgies in cul-de-sacs
Welcome to the Crack digging a bigger sicker trap
When you hear them triggers clap
Better be ready to get back
With a handle of jack I'm about to hammer it tapping that ass
An animal stacking that cash, in-fathomable rappin like that
I'm out
G
Track Name: Crackhouse Flow Pt. -5
(Hook)

[Verse 3: Classic Cris]

You hit the top n they despise you
But I dont mind you cuz Im with my crew
They'll yap that irrelevant trash behind your back and
your face they will tell lies to
While you worryin bout how fly you are, Ima just fly right by you
At the Crackhouse and I got some weed
Little bit of Keystone Light too
Fuck these bitches like I fuck these writtens
Ill probably never have a rival
Mindful of shit thats hotter than a rifle tip hide ya bitch
boutta fire five clips
Polo down to my boxers, grey Chucks with the purple tank
Im smokin on dat good good, and sippn on that purple drank
Yup she on my D-I-C-K cuz she know I be a G-K Paypastak$
up on the beat you feel me
Im kickin faggots asses, sinceI been up in my dad's dick
Now thats Classic, Scrappin bastards till my plastered ass
Is crashin in the grass
Im Me dont forget that part, and Im real, I am these bars
I take her to the crib then I fuck her in the dark then I make her
run home like she hit out the park, yeah
Good lookin, so awesome, real blessed
Yous a bitch, period, PMS
Sandbags, you aint feel real breasts,
Double D's bro quit the bench press
Track Name: Kony on Codeine
[Verse 1: GK Paypa$tak$]

Trying so damn hard to make these rhymes tight - lines right
Catch me droppin bombs like I hit you with a fly-by
A knife and a 9 Ima leave you tie-died
Aiming for the back of your mind, and Im using hindsights
See me dropping heat, (I) been eating fire for a week
And your perspiring, Im dialed in
This pen is trying to speak up!
Adidas, will her her running back-to-me, like Im the Qb
And she's receiver
Even if you caught that, I bet that you wouldn't get it
Because there isn't enough bitches
That listen to what Im spittin
I've written a composition thats killin the competition
Going in is what I in-vision, like a surgical incision
Yall a bunch of scrubs, and I been drinking J.D.
iLoveHandles, but apples fat free

[Verse 2: Classic Cris]

Im poppin a white pill, Im swervin I might spill
My 40, Big L is back n Im nice on the mic still
Mike Tyson on vicodins I might fight you and bite your ear
Im rhyming ripping this here, havent been to jail in a year
Shoutouts to my Grandma, puffin on them stoagies
Fuck what the doctor say, he is not your homie
You dont like the Crackhouse, mothafucka blow me
You could never stop me Im Joseph Kony on Codeine
Jabronis, phonys n Jokers, I kill em like Im supposed to
Im feelin really important im vibin im smokin dohzer
Im lyin, Im posin dont ya know Im righteous Im drinkin orange
Juice, and the vodkas foreign, Shoot, Classic Cris Dorner
Blastin these bastards ass off, Laughin it up in a mansion
put savage ratchets in caskes, couple drips of that acid
Kill I fast then I pass it to the murderer/beat harasses
Talkin bout them Stak$b bitch, Crackhouse ... Classic
So whats it mean to be Classic?
Im tired of ya ass talkin, thats why the speakers are blasting
Torture ten percentage of kids with torches in orphanages
Chokin with my whole entire force till theres no orange in em
Saw Jobs ghost told Steve to hire me and
Now I'm higher, still retired, getting wired like tweak
Trey's from the south and his last name is park- or
Something like that, if you didn't get it, check their artwork
You say your down to earth, but your really just a heart worm
Don't be a critic were the shinit, get your bars firm
Track Name: Cut Loose
[Verse 2: Classic Cris]

Classic, how ya gonna hate on him
Killt my own beat Im Dre n Em
Love to see ya faces when Im spittin my creations never writin a line
if it aint amazing
Dont deserve praise n shit Ima mothafuckin kid with a page and a pen
Cant raise the dead, I cant pay my debt
Im just like yall quit the ignorance
Save that shit for someone who gives
a fuck about a human who dont know who he is
Respect the legends but I aint prayin to them
Thats competition Im greater than them
If that aint a fact, Ima fake it then
Till me and God are breakin bread
Ima king, won't ever claim to be a God,
Wont quit killin raps I cant stop, it turned my life around
with a help of a couple cops
I just wanna make it for my moms
Try n tell me you like to see your mother starve
On second thought save your breath, Adelfas gonna ball
Even when Im at the top Ima kill you all

[Verse 3: GK Paypastak$]
Track Name: Will Flow
[Verse 1: Classic Cris]

Listen haters aint no reason to oppose our dreamin
Either you get ethered or we'll leave you barely breathin
Cheesin, bitches love the way Im steezin
Cuz the reals how I keep it and I see the paper clearly
Broke so I smoke to the filter, drink till theres nothin to sip on
Bitch you gotta tip top to get a glance of what Cris on
Yeah I claim the Classic cuz these new rappers get pissed on
Dont fuckin hit me up if you aint ever seen the vision

[Verse 2: Dolla Will]

(Hook)

[Verse 3: Classic Cris & Dolla Will]

(Hook)

[Verse 4: Classic Cris]

Dreamin of a mansion with my dick out on Jessica Alba
Dreamin of goin on tour, spittin my platinum albums
Wonderin why the fuck Im stuck in the middle, Malcom
So many rappers I just wanna punch, Falcon
Apparently my name and everybody and they bitches mouth
Apparently like 5 people know what the time Im about
I remember days, girls wouldnt talk when I came around
Now when the bitches hear me speak they get slightly aroused
Track Name: Royal Slumber (Feat. Dopehead)
(Hook)

You sleepin on the Kings, Underground legends
Crack embarrass rappers, Bruiser just kill em
Its the royal slumber, You sleepin on the kings, Royal Slumber
Bruiser up in this bitch, style me the fuck out
Dopehead gettin jooky goin stupid with the Crackhouse
Its the royal slumber, you sleepin on the kings Royal Slumber

[Verse 1: Classic Cris]

Classic, attacks whack rappers, act fast when Im plastered blast ya
King of, everythin ratchet never gave a fuck about
appealin to the masses
Fuck your fashion, where ya bars,
Better take cover when I go full retard
Dont be alarmed if you think Im awesome Im beastin on em
admit Im raw
Up all night I got a craft to master
Gotta catch a meal for the morning after, hold up
Im done, going stupid Im dumb, Smokin fuck my lungs
Saw ya wife on pornhub
And you saw me standin right abover her boutta bust without a gun
Spit at the cool kids table, when I was just a youngin
Still aint signed to no label, but I do this like its nothin
I make it look Eazy-E I know get eaten like some pizza rolls
Beneaths me where you'll always go and when you speak
it always shows
Im back to, the flow comin at you, so sneaky sly like the raccoon
Ima man of stature makin moves you just a statue
Cant imagine, the rations of bars that are comin outta this bastard
Dont wanna come off as an asshole but Im past you all
I lapped you all

(Hook)

[Verse 2: Dopehead]

Fuck fake MC's ya'll niggas times up
Crabs in a bucket, hate to see my climb up
And niggas rhymes suck, fakin and they caking
Mad, Cuz Im killin whack rappers off the basics
I hustle hard, they hate to see this mutant eat
Every night, rollin up chiefin nigga fuck sleep
And fuck secret beef, cuz bitch Im in the streets
Police harass me, they hate to see a nigga free
My daddy said my flow tight like Nicki jeans
And I vow to kill these rappers by any means
Sucka niggas get hit with the Calico
Smokin Loud, weed green like a battletote
Niggas hate that Im alive, Middle name Homicide
I dont let the drama slide I get it from my mommas side
Nigga ima cannibal, that Bruiser let them hammers bang
Yo bitch horny I eat pussy like George the Animal
Smokin sunshine state, Tropicana
Shots fired drown a nigga like Louisiana
You talk gangsta, never bend a hammer
Yall niggas hoodrats all you smoke is Bama
Track Name: Classic Chris Dorner
[Verse 1: Classic Cris]

I rape Justin with his own dick in the corner
Im killin everything, call me Classic Chris Dorner
I got bars you can all catch a facial
Bukakke, my dick is bigger than a spaceship
And im crazy, Ill grab my white paper
and make it take this black ink, call in interracial
Im on it, like bored kids on pornhub
AK's will decay you catch a bullet in the cornhole
Pop 3 pills and drink alot of goose
3 nude bitchesi n the coup thats alot of boobs
Ima cool mothafucka with nothin to lose
So catch me in Justins trunk taking poops
The government is out to get you tryna steal your fire
So I keep that Cannon in my pants like Im Mariah
Don't tell Conrad that I said trill
I got that BBQ dick, my meat is on her grill

(Hook)

I'll rape Justin with his own dick in the corner
Im killin everything, Classic Cris Dorner
Yeah thats my mothafuckin homie
Im killin everything rest in peace Chris Dorner
Rape Justin with his own dick in the corner
Im killin everything Classic Cris Dorner
Rest in Peace Chris Dorner
Juck Fustin in the ass with several boners

[Verse 2: GK Paypastaks]

I'm 'bout to go on a rampage, champagne, campaign
Bottles to the head, like I'm a fucking bath drain
Abstain from the passing lane, I got a faster way
Assassinate these faggots like Chris Dorner
But he passed away
Deuces, RIP to the homie
Truth is something Justin will never know
Like its exclusive
Toilet in a new whip, true that's some old shit
But by now its died down, you might as well
Tow it Cris
It's good you didnt flush it
Cause I bet you that he touched it once or twice
And stuck his thumb into his eye, well kdi
I mean I dont know, he needs a row boat
He's all over the road doe, swerves like a mofo
Lying to the po-po
One of these days Im gonna just go go
Off on that mothafucka like an ex cop
Vicodin, well let's pop
Dropshot, molotov 'em when I'm offing the bottle
We get to dropping the slaughter
You think you hot? Then we solder
We're taking shots, and you bought 'em bitch
Bomb this shit, London
I wont be the cop that got caught running
I'm a be the one that shot the sandy hook gunman