Oh! (feat Busta Rhymes) Lyrics

Oh! (feat Busta Rhymes)

Yea

Obie Trice

Real name no gimmicks

I came in the game profane no image

I came in the game with the name I was given from a mang

Who didn't give a fuck about his chil'den



I proclaim the name though

Never in vain no

Watch the change grow

A young nigga who didn't gain from fame

Cock the Range Ro'

Now they want my brains on the main road



But they don't understand what I came fo'

How I came forth with a million sold

Who say you can't grow from mildew and mold

Gettin money like Ross Perot



I'm often told

A cough is the routes I go

O that's the road you on oh no!

I'm down for the rifle tone, the 4-4

Don't even try to send a nigga home ( no no! ) 



I know you wanna catch me at Sunoco

Show me that you're loco

Put holes in my photo

Nope!

Ope!

Hold toast no jokes then slugs through your polo



Just cause O a thug roll solo

And pose on grown fo' be a cold negro

Below

You grieved up people

Believe that the boy see no evil



--(Chorus)--

Oh O! 

I had you yellin' out when I bagged the thirty thirty rifle

Oh O!

Too late for niggas to get religious and start readin they bible

Oh O!

See you can tell like the niggas be pickin the dirty cycle

Oh O!

See you should make bitches that'll make you leave an come a psycho

---



I visualized it

O Trice at twenty-five survived it

Bright but violent

Invite the violence

Fist fight a firemen

Be a tyrant to these niggas nice and silent



O Trice from a triph environment

He rocks the mic no sign of retirin

Maybe want the bank accounts like Leviathan

I'm in position to hire up clients spend



Meanwhile I'm a virus like Iverson

The nigga cross over 

Europeans admirin'

And the soldiers is tirin'

I ain't buyin

Motherfuckers actin like they denyin him



Who tryin a nigga

Who views biased

I figure your crew tired

My trigger introduces violence



Produce them sirens

You on the spittle

Orange juice and vitamins nigga



--Chorus--



A derelict who inherited hustle

My heritage married the street struggle

Like a couple of great uncs ago



So this blood streams through my nuts

Seems like I wasn't in touch when the teacher asked fo' 

Na I was just a preacher in O

Seat on the bleachers and flip coke

The only reach I got through my dome

Niggas gaffle so they gotta be chrome

Pulled to win the raffle so I scramble with the track and the phones



Fuck a actin the clone

This is actual happenings

That's factual back at my home

This is rap but I ain't rappin so you clap in the zone

Think I'm trapped into actin for the sake of performin? 



This is your warnin'

Run up on em wrong

And your tissue is burnin a hundred degrees warm

O Treezies gone

My nigga Bust bring da hook back in for 'em



--Chorus--