| Ha ha! |
| Yeah! |
| Ha ha! |
| Yeah!
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| Aiyyo-yo, aiyyo-yo!
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| Obie Trice, yo!
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| Nuttin nice, yo!
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| Where the fuck, my niggaz at
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| Check check yo
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| I had a vision to conquer the world with lyrical incisions on your brain
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| And blow this rap game
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| Introduce myself, the name’s Obie Trice
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| Caramel complected, stay the hell away from vice
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| The fifth Spice, without a coochie
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| Never had lucci, Coogi or Gucci
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| Unruly, roll with niggaz that be moody
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| Talkin loud at the movies, checkin out your mom’s booty
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| Don’t fuck with cats that’s fruity
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| Pull out the toolie on a nigga with a irregular size dukey
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| Sellin rocks to Pookie
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| Got my pockets fat, so fat at times it gets spooky
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| Makin moves with the uzi
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| In a truck when I scoop up the cutie from a different hood that I be
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| Raunchy, never drink Spumantie, it make me sick
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| Drunk it once, farted, truthfully shitted
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| Pitted, every time I piss for P.O.
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| So THC remains in the urine flow
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| «On and on»
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| «Obie Trice»
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| «My rhymes could never be compared to yours»
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| «On and on and on and on»
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| «And on and on and on-on-on»
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| «I was born to rip a." — «Microphone»
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| «On and on, on and on, on and on and on, on»
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| I’m too much — the type of kid that’ll take your car
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| Burn out your clutch and really wouldn’t give a fuck
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| A grunt, grudge holder, slug thrower
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| Mean-mug ignore ya, I just feed you to the boa
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| Bullshitter, when bitches bossy over dick
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| I tell 'em quit that, stand back, get off my shit
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| Thick lips, known for fuckin titty bar tricks
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| Nice size hips with a dozen of Ray Ray kids
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| Runnin the block like Bébé Kids in Atlanta
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| Hot! |
| My temperature be Tony Montana
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| Y’all niggaz never smoke 'bama, speak with broken grammar
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| And if you talk shit I’ma slam ya
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| «On and on»
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| «Obie Trice»
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| «My rhymes could never be compared to yours»
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| «I was born to rip a." — «Microphone»
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| «On and on and on, on»
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| Backs out ya tweeters, stage dive, me and Colt Seavers
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| Pullin out heaters on disbelievers
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| Grow like a Chia
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| Pettin all pussies non-poison, givin out gonorrhea
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| You can find me here, in ya ink
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| Open up notebooks and sink, deep between the sheets
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| We’ll meet, «mano y mano»
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| Crack you with the 40-ounce bottle, until my style up full throttle
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| Offend MC’s, that’s the motto
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| Once I’m in this rap game ridin tracks, me in my Tahoe
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| Shippin platinum, Obie the (Well Known Asshole)
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| Fuck with it though, I guarantee a great asset
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| «On and on»
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| «Obie Trice»
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| «Could never be compared to yours»
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| «On and on and on and on»
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| «On and on and on-on-on»
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| «I was born to rip a." — «Microphone»
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| «On and on and on, on» |