*featuring 12 O'Clock
|
|
[Intro: Ol Dirty Bastard]
|
|
Sup? Let's go.
|
(Yo Snoop Dogg! Yo Dre! Yo Too $hort! E-40, and the motherfucking Click!)
|
Nuff respect to the West coast.
|
(Duhhn duhhn duhhn)
|
Yo, Ol Dirty Bastard coming through
|
Know what I'm saying? I got the East coast locked the FUCK down
|
Hear my SHIT, nigga! (Dirty dirty dirty, Brooklyn!)
|
|
[Verse One: 12 O'Clock]
|
|
Shit is crazy real in the field
|
I watched niggaz blood get spilled over five dollar bills
|
And major drug deals on the real
|
See a nigga get meals and his bitch get him killed
|
In this American dream to get some cream
|
You're ownin a Beem, and your face in magazines
|
12 O'Clock maintains in the game
|
Bring the Pain to smokin Method, main
|
It's not all about the fame, silly ass dames
|
Get a gold record and you change
|
And for the niggaz sellin cocaine, you're too blame
|
Black people lives ain't the same
|
And that's the Tale in my Hood
|
Niggaz is up to no good, you better watch em in them hoods
|
|
[Verse Two: Ol Dirty Bastard]
|
|
I always thought livin life was easy
|
Go to school, get a job, yo it couldn't be me
|
So instead, I played my bed
|
My momma got fed, and now a nigga livin with a dread
|
My best fuckin friend, knew him since ten
|
Nigga feed me CREAM, let me whip the Benz
|
Houses all over Texas, lightning gold Lexus
|
He had enough respect to dress this
|
Expensive Tim suits, girl wearin fly Gucci boots
|
Put me on like POOK!
|
Every morning that I awake
|
Ten G's in my fuckin face, combination to the safe!
|
Son run the state, carrying coke by the weight
|
Nigga put pounds in the weed gate
|
And it's ran by Ol Dirty
|
12 O'Clock, my little brother, he keeps it dirty
|
Dirty
|
|
(Fuck all that motherfucking drug selling shit
|
I wanna see some motherfucking lyrics
|
I wanna hear some motherfucking lyrics
|
What up nigga, what?)
|
|
Hahahahahahahahahahaha
|
I got you nigga
|
|
[Verse Three: 12 O'Clock, Ol Dirty Bastard]
|
|
I'll rip mics on site you know the type
|
New Jack, this is my City like Wesley Snipes
|
Go fly a kite or somethin, make some muffins
|
I come up bad in the town like Charles Bronson
|
Now set your speaker and I'll do you for that reason
|
12 is no joke I bring wreck through the seasons
|
Solomon, contend, many more but just when
|
That Joker act you can save for Jack Nicholson
|
|
One two and three, through your rap fatigue
|
In the MC world, is a minor league
|
What you speak, you swear it's unique
|
It's just a peek, physique, of an old antique
|
Don't expect a project, then it's bound to freeze
|
Your whole head is stuck and stiff
|
Next Siamese, I never liked rhymes
|
That's incomplete, then again obsolete
|
I shall repeat, there's an Easy Street
|
For niggaz who earned, then learn your sojourn
|
Then you return, as an intelligent, positive, messanger
|
Not an experiment negative Lucifer
|
With a tittling gloss of crafted skin
|
Nothing like spring sauce, of the true origin
|
Who would score, the wizard of war
|
Came in best man was a god damn dinosaur
|
No more jungle-like living, from the Blue Lagoon
|
It's not an Animal House, National loon Lampoon
|
If you understand the what when
|
Why how, are you fellas who exempt
|
or to disallow, a fresh MC, that will knock you down
|
I gets dizzy spellbound like a merry-go-round
|
While I'm freaking, shall I expose
|
You take a subject, and then you decompose...
|
|
-----------------
|
Ol Dirty's Back
|
| Ol' Dirty Bastard |
