Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Oh My God, artist - Joe Budden. Album song Mood Muzik Vol. 1, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 16.09.2015
Record label: Amalgam, Stage One
Song language: English
Oh My God |
| They call me F-A-Beezy, sometimes Stizzo |
| The wrist on freezy, neck on glizzo |
| The coupe move easy at two-double-izzo |
| Truck look cheezy |
| And it’s jacked up like it sit on stilettos |
| Can’t you see the glit' on the pebble that sit on the bezel |
| None of you little scraps couldn’t get on my level |
| Take more than a hot song to try to sit on the devil |
| Got respect when I killed «Money, Power» the first time |
| When they tried to knock down the towers the first time |
| And the only reason I’m talking 'bout it |
| Is so you know the real talk of New York’s about it |
| I’m with a bitch, with a tight ass that shakes |
| Her suck game will one gulp: White Castle shakes |
| Got the home right past the lake |
| When I came they stop us, this time might blast the jake |
| I’m the nigga on the couches in clubs |
| And I stand out from the rest of the slouchers and scrubs |
| Bottles and bottles with a train of pretty hoes |
| That look like they could be amazing videos |
| We in the caps with the Yankee logos |
| Blowing on the stanky dro dro, the pinky snow-globe |
| And you know the link be so «oh» |
| Niggas look fast but the blinks be slow-mo |
| I could spot a kinky ho though |
| All hood bitch, she just tryna make you think she SoHo |
| Plus I know the game like the back of my hand |
| When I’m lazy, you can catch me in the back of sedans |
| When I’m gone, you can bet I’m coming back with a tan |
| With the Mickey D signs on the back of my pants |
| And I act like the man, 'cause this my time |
| Plus the hood say they miss my dimes, it’s young money |
| Yeah, DJ Clue |
| Desert Storm (is this what you want, man?) |
| Y’all can’t fuck with my wolves, man, for real (huh?) |
| Come on y’all, yeah (is this what you want?) |
| Now niggas say they in the hood like Mister Softee |
| They in the hood getting treated like Mister Softie |
| «I clap the four-fifth», if you believe that |
| Then you believe Rick James died of natural causes |
| I’m twisting up trees-chronic to switching up ebonics |
| Started in the fifth grade, switching up etonics |
| Know a few dudes that’ll spit at your dome |
| So go see 'em if you really want invisible stones |
| Try and get at me to hit him |
| Just type forty acres and a mule in your navi system |
| My hood—they kidnapping your kids |
| See, we try and Tom Cruise and Jamie what collateral is |
| Whack dudes in the game is a problem |
| But they like Maurice Malone jeans, their name will stay on the bottom |
| Murdering that? |
| Nah, heard him, he’s sub-par |
| Coyote Ugly rappers, keep working at your bars |
| & Paul Cain] |
| (Yeah) Yeah, y’all know who it is |
| Uh-huh (SLK) |
| Motherfucker, I’m Cain (Paul Cain) fuck |
| Cain got the heart of a soldier, mind of a general |
| Strategy is important, timing is critical |
| We wear tracks out, lyrically I’m a beast |
| From Brooklyn’s backbone, epitome of the streets |
| Only the strong survive, if you physically weak |
| You get gunbutted, stabbed, shot, and critically beat |
| 'Cause listen, ain’t no shook hands in Brooklyn |
| Presidential with the matching bullet bracelet, it’s a good look, man |
| Call me whatever, I hustle and I rap a little |
| You see the color stones chain look like a pack of Skittles |
| I give 'em anthrax, every bar is that official |
| I know I’m a gangster, I ain’t got to pack a pistol |
| I don’t rap in riddles, I give it to a nigga |
| Straight, no chaser, I’m like Hen' on the rocks |
| If it ain’t the fifth, it’s probably the Glock |
| I’m the nigga Clue and Duro call when they need the bodies to drop |
| If it ain’t the chain, it’s probably the watch |
| When I ride if it ain’t the truck or sedan, it’s probably the drop |
| Play the block, I don’t party a lot |
| I’m the one who sent the goon with the snub to get the jewels from the club |
| I could never blow all my dough |
| When I get at least ten people robbed at all my shows |
| And all I know: money, clothes, birds, and cars |
| Running from Po’s, champagne, furs, and R’s |
| Quite sure you must’ve heard of the God |
| If not I’m Cain, Triangle Offense, I’m a third of the squad |
| I’m the first line of the defense, the star point guard |
| Is back starting, y’all be used to riding the bench |
| fuck that «no women, no kids» shit |
| When the shotty blows, everybody goes, business is business |
| But dig this, fuck a guilty conscience |
| I’ll put a slug in you, really give you something to live with |
| Fuck street fighting, I pull a hammer in a split second |
| The kid breathe fire, and speak lightning |
| These niggas ain’t writing |
| All they did was analyze my flow, and use my style so their liking, nigga |
| Fuck (yeah), yeah |
| (Desert Storm) Cain |
| Ask about me |
| Now the year’s new, I laid my game flat |
| I want my spot back, take two, motherfucker |