| (feat. Organized Konfusion) | |
| "War Games" | |
| "War Games" | |
| [Intro: O.C.] | |
| Uh yeah uh uh uh | |
| What, Crooklyn Dodger Number 2 | |
| O.C., yeah back in the scene muthafucka | |
| Me and Premo, you know, East New York | |
| Bushwick, Bedstuy, and all those good places | |
| [O.C.] | |
| Yo | |
| My main frame, discipline like a soldier | |
| Ready for war, pushups get my chest swoll up | |
| What's the deal Preme? I mean the scaze | |
| I think I got it locked in nigga, War Games is the theme | |
| Rap commando, what's my handle | |
| O.C. ample to rock shit | |
| Battle niggas who pop shit | |
| Green bareen thought slicka | |
| I'm one step ahead, slide thru enemy lines like a black ack figga | |
| Camouflage, runnin thru you zone with detection | |
| Cuz the dark skinned marksmen | |
| Run thru your section | |
| Flesh ya bones, physical built like titanium | |
| Bugs cover my grill like Iranians | |
| Ill gorilla so called killas | |
| I fear no man but Allah, for the god is he is still in us | |
| The Renaissance Man, I roll with real like grenade | |
| Sharp like gem stars | |
| Cause massive scars | |
| O.C.'s all in it, dope I've been for years | |
| Now I'm back in the scene, and I declare War Games | |
| I bust off like a M-16 | |
| Rippin thru screens from head to toe, blood soak up your jeans | |
| Rap veteran, earn my stripes, faught wars | |
| Opposing forces, would O.C. take losses? | |
| Naucious, you feelin kinda like throwing up | |
| Cautious, watch ya step, land rhymes blowin up | |
| Havin a pity for foes, fuck G.I. Joe | |
| He's a sucker, slap the taste outta wild motherfuckas | |
| Design a rhyme, like a plan for the government | |
| Six Million like Steve Austin, costin | |
| Apprehended if I am | |
| In times and my body will erupt *explosion* | |
| M-16 tapecatin, voids filled with ammo | |
| Bust it through a crowd, a bitch nigga sing soprano | |
| When I get you in the square, then I end you career | |
| All MC's lets make one thing clear | |
| You're all the same, I will remain, fuck the fame | |
| Feelin the lane to shoot, I declare War Games | |
| [Chorus x2: Organized Konfusion (Pharoahe Monch & Prince Poetry)] | |
| I declare War Games | |
| For niggas who flaunt figgas for more fame | |
| Gorilla warfare, tactics issue unlimited access to ammo | |
| With fire proof camouflage and power | |
| [O.C.] | |
| Precise pinpoint it, pull it, when I cock back | |
| This here rap will slap you and your team, and that bad bitch | |
| Sleaves from my uncut, raw like cope | |
| Preme dig up boys, roll up and smoke | |
| Then toge it, back to B.I. | |
| See I can do this, I'm professional | |
| Too much weight to weigh any style | |
| Dutch Master superior blend, inhale me right | |
| Young Phillies take a toke of my rap, and get the | |
| Willies para- | |
| Noid, niggas all non void | |
| Fuck with O.C., get your life destroyed | |
| Like a marine, I'm a trained rap killing machine | |
| Fiend to rock a mic, set from New York to New Orleans | |
| Over seas I conquer, rough like blanca | |
| Love to eat actors, gotta take for drama | |
| When I flow I get comatose | |
| In my own world | |
| From the first verse, you saw my plan unfurl | |
| I mean team same name, never change | |
| My ammo is the demo competition on the mic | |
| War Games | |
| "War Games" [x5] |
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