Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song M.U.G., artist - O.C.. Album song Jewelz, in the genre R&B
Date of issue: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: The Island Def Jam
Song language: English
M.U.G. |
Penicillin on wax, the cure for rap |
Crooklyn Dodger number two back on the map |
Perhaps you thought I was gone, well surprise nigga |
Not physically, but I’m a massive figure |
Al Pacino status, the baddest, exotic |
Repetition like a automatic, can’t stop it |
High floatin', po satin' like coke snortin' |
When I see a fetus, moms thought about abortin' |
Important, am I? |
Gotta ask myself |
But then I think twice like a Gemini |
Authentic, percentage, calculating my mind state |
Eat foods and fit it |
Bizarre pa, ain’t it, flow you through like draino |
Lava, from a volcano |
Scorchin', torchin' the microphone I lost it |
Poppin' |
Freddie Foxxx with the twin millies |
Burn a temperillo |
Aiyo Foxxx fuck these niggas |
Slice 'em up like an ox pop |
Yeah, okay, it’s time to bring these rap cats from Fantasy Isle |
I bring it to these fake niggas with a quick and a smile |
You know my style, America’s most feared entertainer |
Yeah, from New York to Cali, I’m called an acid Rainer |
While you frontin' like ballin', son I stays in the mix |
Same bullets in your burner since '76 |
Act like you can’t tell, shit be live as hell |
Bustin' so much shots |
When my shells hit the ground it sound like «Rock the Bells» |
Call me Bumpy Knuckles 'cuz my hands be swell |
From knockin' niggas out from the lies they tell |
Oh well, I bet you feel me all up in ya chest |
I make the saucest nigga catch a body blame it on stress |
And if he snitch, I bail him out and murder his bitch |
And then sedate her with my four pound clap |
Shit’s only rap but I’m livin' like that |
So when while niggas be talkin' dogs and walkin' like cats |
Niggas mouths were gettin' way too fat |
But O.C. |
and big Fred Oxxx, we bought to bring it back |
«Let's go back» |
«I'm tellin' it just like that» |
We be money under ground but you can’t get none |
'Cuz if you step into my round, you be one dead son |
We get love where niggas be scared to come |
And we got a whole lot to give, but you don’t want none |
Any nigga play high post, I’m runnin' over |
O.C. |
weigh tons like a fuckin' Range rover |
(Tellin' niggas to they face that the fassad is over |
Now it’s time for this real nigga shit, can you feel this?) |
No question, we manifestin', what we feel |
Bust up in your session, smack niggas up like adolescence |
(Like a D&D, I can’t see a gang, no motherfuckin' body |
Seein' me that’s just pure fantasy) |
True indeed son, we ain’t the one |
While niggas goin' out like that, we bring it on like Scarface |
(That's means murder case, I bring highs to any base |
Disrespect the profession) |
Mean that real niggas on the mic, bringin' it back |
It’s mad potent, like good crack, it’s type addicted |
All up in ya mind, you don’t want hard times |
We be money under ground but you can’t get none |
'Cuz if you step into my round, you be one dead son |
We get love where niggas be scared to come |
And we got a whole lot to give, but you don’t want none |
What? |