Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Move Back, artist - Ol' Dirty Bastard. Album song Osirus - The Official Mixtape, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 04.07.2006
Record label: Sure Shot
Song language: English
Move Back |
Aww, man, yeah, Lenox Ave. Boyz |
Aww, man, come on, yea, yeah, yo |
You doin' what you doin', let’s get it |
Starvin' and you robbin', and you catch a nigga slippin', best get 'em |
Hit 'em where the good Lord split him |
Introduce myself, go booth yourself |
In the far left lane, and I’m, hydro planed |
And I’m, slingin' my 'caine, don’t care how you feel |
Checkin' out the truck, check the wheels |
Wanna get fucked, bitch kneel, let me splash in your grill |
Who but me? |
Muthafuckin' right, get it right |
Papi of this motherfuckin' thing, truck tight |
Rollin' with my niggas, we ain’t lookin' for no fights |
Now pop one in your head, that’s all she said |
It’s time to get head in my Mercedes-Benz |
Chipped up and I ain’t even talkin' bout my jams |
Clipped up, so any nigga frontin', gettin' banned |
Give 'em all ten in his chin, I’m all in |
Move back, move back, you can’t fuck with me, huh |
I’m from the clique called N.I.B |
Next up, I believe that’s me |
Meeno, get it right, no descrempancy |
Always keep a weapon, see, run it ground |
Worth of stones, nothin' less on me, why you stress on me |
Niggas mad cause I stretch my D., ya’ll dudes want my recipe? |
Here’s what ya’ll do, hit the lab, write an album or two |
Then I might let you sign my shoe, that’s just how I do |
Everybody sayin', boy too souped up |
Nah, I’m just hot, plus Bentley Coup’d up |
Who put, you too busy holdin' the stoupe up |
Ya’ll fault your broke, and not mine, stupe’a |
I’m like Juve', I need it in my life |
Got fifty birds flyin' in, later on tonight |
Rock and I hustle, so I get paid twice |
Life is a gamble boy, roll your dice |
Who you know spit flows, get dough like I |
In the L.A.B.'s, motherfucker, no lie |
Hit the links I’ve seen, back in late '95 |
Had to wait for two nine, rockin' and clickin' on both sides |
Of course we gon' ride, ride over the competition |
The real has arrived, ya’ll bitch niggas is finished |
All I gotta do is Nextel tag my lieutenant |
Your whole click will get toe tagged tagged in two minutes |
This to them fools thinkin' they gon' catch the God slippin' |
I’m always on point and I’m always packin' my weapon |
You see me in the club, believe me, I got the tech in |
I slipped the DJ a guard, you slipped it in with the records |
Either you love it or hate it, but bet you gon' respect it |
Rainbow glow, when the lights hit off the necklace |
I’m what you can’t be, young, black, rich, and wreckless |
It’s the god free, and L.A.B.'s, one two, check it |
Remix! |
Huh, yeah, it’s 101, what? |
You know what it is when you hear that, Harlem |
Fix ya face or smacked in it, Harlem |
Harlem, right here, Harlem |
You gon' stupid if you don’t bounce to this man |
You gonna only look like a hater, huh-huh |
Lenox Ave. Boyz, what up, it’s only right |
They know what it is, man, remix |
Move back, its no touchin' me, I’m from that place called NYC |
H Dub to the death, and I don’t give a fuck what party it is |
I’m still in the club wearin' sweats (hah) |
Milk ears with the money colored check |
Ill two step, blowin' dubs with the best |
Live life, most hated, with my Lenox Ave. Boyz |
Remix, Move Back, with Grease providing all the noise |
Huh, your home boy game so raw |
And I ain’t even gotta say my name no more |
Haters wanna give my name to the law |
But punchin' and kickin', to kick us all, they can blame you for |
Might catch me in the 'Lac with Snaps |
Or lightin' sticky green 'dro, with Wink and Meeno |
You from the hood and you ain’t no coward, well me neither |
And before you step on my sneaker, I really think you need to (move back, move |
Back) |
This your boy to the dash |
Same nigga, no talkin', just result to the mass |
I stab niggas, throw the hawk in the trash |
Peroxide my bullets, give the burners a bath |
Three fifty Z, burnin' the Ave |
I’m old school, I still got the fiends burnin' the glass |
I pull the pump off my waist, and dumb in your face |
I’m a little bit too hard for the radios to play |
I still can spit eighty miles an hour in a verse |
And my Coupe go eighty miles an hour in reverse |
I let my tool go, ya’ll niggas just studio killas |
Nigga, I’mma killa in the studio |
I got guns that’ll hollow a wall |
Point it to your jaw, make you swallow it all |
Ya’ll niggas want hardcore? |
What the fuck you think the R, and Full Surface and D-Block is for? |
They ask, who’s that, that’s P-Cardi |
And what he in, what he in, he in a Fer-rari |
You know I’m strapped, you know I’m strapped, I got the heat on me |
And what I’m wearin', and what I’m wearin', a long Bigari |
Thinkin' I’m Joe Clark, nigga, try to 'lean on me' |
But if he is, like Biggie said, 'he gon' bleed' |
Niggas ain’t hard, niggas heart full of creatine |
But go against that, green, I go against your, brain |
And don’t fuck with me and the kid, I’ve been a daddy all my life |
No 'dro, we gon' blow that alley all day, say what |
Act stupid, we gon' it crackin' here tonight |
Greasin', Meen' on the front, with Snappy on my right |
If rap don’t work, nigga, we go to the kitchen |
Those ain’t hoes, so then you know we ain’t pimpin' |
I’m on, my toes, so nigga, no, I ain’t slippin' |
Too close, hold somethin', or now I know Cardy didn’t |
And if he know, what keep me little |
Think you know, I think it later |
See me, and my guns come to, just like a waiter |
You up north, singin' just like Anita Baker |
Make up your mind, then come and ready, feen to meet your maker |
The man that laugh last, will surely laugh harder |
Me have a gonna shut up and eat bars, and all of the prankster |
With them and I for black gangster (huh, I’m from the clique called N.I.B.) |
But drunk, when he hop inside, in the club gettin' tired |
Bitches scatter all around me, ready to excite it |
All these kittens got me flea bitten, eatin' out my mitten |
I’m comin' off top, my moves are unwritten |
Now slitter to the snake, in the spring time wither |
But strong on my own, Wu-Tang, I’m forever |
Women desirin', jobs is hiring |
Money admiring, never keep tiring |
Rhymin' ain’t nothin', the easiest job ever |
And I’m doing mine, holdin' it together |
While money quadruple, from playin' the cripple |
Drinkin' from a titty nipple, sippin' on ripple |
Blunt keep on flippin', from keep gettin' dippin' |
The mic I’m rippin', the record skippin' |
The pussy drippin', the wet got me slippin' |
The bitch I’m strippin', I’m platinum shippin' |