Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Oh! , by - Obie Trice. Release date: 31.12.2002
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Oh! |
| I came in the game, profane no image |
| I came in the game, with a name |
| I was given from a mayn who ain’t give a fuck about his child-ren |
| I proclaim the name though, never in vain no Watch the change grow, a young nigga who didn’t gain from fame |
| Copped the Range Ro', now they want my brains on the main road |
| They don’t understand what I came for |
| How I came fo', with a million sold |
| Who say you can’t grow from mildew and mold |
| Gettin money like Ross Perot |
| I’m often told, a coffin’s the routes I go Oh that’s the road you on, oh no |
| I’m down for the rifle, tone the fo fo Don’t ever try to send a nigga home, no no |
| I know you wanna catch me at Sunoco |
| Show me that your loco put holes in my photo |
| NOPE!, HOPE!, hold toast, no jokes, send slugs through your Polo |
| Just cause our thug roll solo |
| And po’zone grown folk, be a cold negro |
| Be-low, your grieved up people |
| Be-lieve that the boy see no evil |
| OHH! |
| I had you yellin out when I backed a 30/30 Rifle |
| OHH! |
| Too late for niggaz to get religious and start readin they Bible |
| OHH! |
| See you can yell like other niggaz, your pickin a dirty psycho |
| OHH! |
| See you should make peace instead of makin me become a psycho |
| I visualized it, O. Trice at 25 survived it Bright but violent, invite the violence |
| Fist fight a fireman, be a tyrant |
| 'Til these niggaz nights is silent |
| O. Trice from a trife environment |
| He 'Rock's the Mic’no sight of retirin |
| Maybe when the bank accounts light like a fire thin |
| I’m in the position to hire other clients then |
| Meanwhile I’m a virus like Iverson |
| A nigga crossover, Europeans admirin |
| And the soldier’s retirin, I ain’t buyin |
| Motherfuckers actin like you denyin them |
| Who tryin a nigga, who use buyers |
| I figure your crew tired, my trigger introduces VIOLENCE |
| Loose the sirus, you in hospital, orange juice and vitamins |
| No coke |
| A derelict who inherited hustle |
| My heritage married the street struggle |
| Like a couple of a great unk’s ago (yeah) |
| So this blood streams through my nuts |
| Seems like I wasn’t in touch |
| When the teacher’s ass spoke |
| Nope, naw I was just a preacher in oath |
| Sit on the bleachers and flip coke |
| The only reach you got through my dome |
| Niggaz yaffle so the gat’ll be chrome |
| Pull the window raffle, so I scramble with a track and the phones (woo) |
| Fuck a act and a clone, this is actual happening’s that’s factual back in my home |
| This is rap, but I ain’t rappin so you clappin the zone |
| Think we trapped in the act, for the sake of performin (nigga) |
| This is your warnin, run up on the wrong |
| And your tissue is burning a hundred degrees warm (*Blaap*) |
| O. Treezy’s gone, my nigga Buzz bring the track back here for 'em |