Oh!(Album Version (Explicit)) feat. Busta Rhymes

歌詞

Yea Obie Trice Real name no gimmicks I came in the game profane no image I came in the game with the name I was given from a mang Who didn't give a fuck about his chil'den I proclaim the name though Never in vain no Watch the change grow A young nigga who didn't gain from fame Cock the Range Ro' Now they want my brains on the main road But they don't understand what I came fo' How I came forth with a million sold Who say you can't grow from mildew and mold Gettin money like Ross Perot I'm often told A cough is the routes I go O that's the road you on oh no! I'm down for the rifle tone, the 4-4 Don't even try to send a nigga home ( no no! ) I know you wanna catch me at Sunoco Show me that you're loco Put holes in my photo Nope! Ope! Hold toast no jokes then slugs through your polo Just cause O a thug roll solo And pose on grown fo' be a cold negro Below You grieved up people Believe that the boy see no evil --(Chorus)-- Oh O! I had you yellin' out when I bagged the thirty thirty rifle Oh O! Too late for niggas to get religious and start readin they bible Oh O! See you can tell like the niggas be pickin the dirty cycle Oh O! see you should make peace insted of making me become a phycho --- I visualized it O Trice at twenty-five survived it Bright but violent Invite the violence Fist fight a firemen Be a tyrant to these niggas nice and silent O Trice from a triph environment He rocks the mic no sign of retirin Maybe want the bank accounts like Leviathan I'm in position to hire up clients spend Meanwhile I'm a virus like Iverson The nigga cross over Europeans admirin' And the soldiers is tirin' I ain't buyin Motherfuckers actin like they denyin him Who tryin a nigga Who views biased I figure your crew tired My trigger introduces violence Produce them sirens You on the spittle Orange juice and vitamins nigga --Chorus-- A derelict who inherited hustle My heritage married the street struggle Like a couple of great uncs ago So this blood streams through my nuts Seems like I wasn't in touch when the teacher asked fo' Na I was just a preacher in O Seat on the bleachers and flip coke The only reach I got through my dome Niggas gaffle so they gotta be chrome Pulled to win the raffle so I scramble with the track and the phones Fuck a actin the clone This is actual happenings That's factual back at my home This is rap but I ain't rappin so you clap in the zone Think I'm trapped into actin for the sake of performin? This is your warnin' Run up on em wrong And your tissue is burnin a hundred degrees warm O Treezies gone My nigga Bust bring da hook back in for 'em --Chorus--