| 作词 : Credle, Foxxx, Martin | |
| (feat. Freddie Foxxx) | |
| [O.C.] | |
| Penecilin on wax, the cure for rap | |
| Crooklyn Dodger number two back on the map | |
| Perhaps you thought I was gone, well surprise nigga | |
| Not physically, but I'mma massive figure | |
| Al Pacino status, the baddest, exotic | |
| Repition like a automatic, can't stop it | |
| High floatin, po satin like coke snortin | |
| When Ise a fetus, moms thought about abortin | |
| Important, am I? gotta ask myself | |
| But then I think twice like a gemini | |
| Authentic, percentage, calculating my mind state | |
| Eat foods and fit it | |
| Bizarre pa, ain't it, flow you thru like draino | |
| Lava, from a volcano | |
| Scorchin, torchin the microphone I lost it | |
| Poppin shit, who got my back | |
| Freddie Foxxx with the twin millies | |
| Burn a temperillo | |
| Aiyo Foxxx fuck these niggas | |
| Slice em up like an ox pop | |
| [Freddie Foxxx] | |
| Yeah | |
| Ok, it's time to bring these rap cats from Fantasy Isle | |
| I bring it to these fake niggas with a quick and a smile | |
| You know my sty-ile, America's most feared entertainer | |
| Yeah from New York to Cali, I'm called an acid rainer | |
| While you frontin like ballin, son I stays in the mix | |
| Same bullets in your burner since '76 | |
| Act like you can't tell, shit be live as hell | |
| Bustin so much shots, | |
| When my shells hit the ground it sound like "Rock the Bells" | |
| Call me Bumpy Knuckles cuz my hands be swell | |
| From knockin niggas out from the lies they tell | |
| Oh well, I bet you feel me all up in ya chest | |
| I make the saucest nigga catch a body blame it on stress | |
| And if he snitch, I bail him out and murder his bitch | |
| And then sedate her with my four pound clap | |
| Shit's only rap | |
| But I'm livin like that | |
| So when while niggas be talkin dogs, and walkin like cats | |
| Niggas mouths were gettin way too fat | |
| But O.C. & big Fred-Oxxx, we bought to bring it back | |
| "Let's go back" | |
| "I'm tellin it just like that" | |
| [Chorus: O.C. & Freddie Foxxx] | |
| We be money under ground but you can't get none | |
| Cuz if you step into my round, you be one dead son | |
| We get love where niggas be scared to come | |
| And we got a whole lot to give, but you don't want none | |
| [O.C. (Freddie Foxxx) {both}] | |
| Any nigga play high post, I'm runnin over | |
| O.C. weigh tons like a fuckin Range Rover | |
| (Tellin niggas to they face that the fassad is over | |
| Now it's time for this real nigga shit, can you feel this?) | |
| No question, we manifestin, what we feel | |
| Bust up in your session, smack niggas up like adolesce | |
| (Like a D&D, I can't see a gang, no motherfuckin body, seein me | |
| That's just pure fantasy) | |
| True indeed son, we ain't the one | |
| While niggas goin out like that, we bring it on like Scarface | |
| (That's means murder case, I bring highs to any base | |
| Disrespect the prosession) | |
| {So all of these beats and these rhymes attached} | |
| (Mean that real niggas on the mic, bringin it back | |
| It's mad potent, like good crack, it's type addicted | |
| All up in ya mind, you don't wan't hard times) | |
| [Chorus] | |
| What? |
| zuo ci : Credle, Foxxx, Martin | |
| feat. Freddie Foxxx | |
| O. C. | |
| Penecilin on wax, the cure for rap | |
| Crooklyn Dodger number two back on the map | |
| Perhaps you thought I was gone, well surprise nigga | |
| Not physically, but I' mma massive figure | |
| Al Pacino status, the baddest, exotic | |
| Repition like a automatic, can' t stop it | |
| High floatin, po satin like coke snortin | |
| When Ise a fetus, moms thought about abortin | |
| Important, am I? gotta ask myself | |
| But then I think twice like a gemini | |
| Authentic, percentage, calculating my mind state | |
| Eat foods and fit it | |
| Bizarre pa, ain' t it, flow you thru like draino | |
| Lava, from a volcano | |
| Scorchin, torchin the microphone I lost it | |
| Poppin shit, who got my back | |
| Freddie Foxxx with the twin millies | |
| Burn a temperillo | |
| Aiyo Foxxx fuck these niggas | |
| Slice em up like an ox pop | |
| Freddie Foxxx | |
| Yeah | |
| Ok, it' s time to bring these rap cats from Fantasy Isle | |
| I bring it to these fake niggas with a quick and a smile | |
| You know my styile, America' s most feared entertainer | |
| Yeah from New York to Cali, I' m called an acid rainer | |
| While you frontin like ballin, son I stays in the mix | |
| Same bullets in your burner since ' 76 | |
| Act like you can' t tell, shit be live as hell | |
| Bustin so much shots, | |
| When my shells hit the ground it sound like " Rock the Bells" | |
| Call me Bumpy Knuckles cuz my hands be swell | |
| From knockin niggas out from the lies they tell | |
| Oh well, I bet you feel me all up in ya chest | |
| I make the saucest nigga catch a body blame it on stress | |
| And if he snitch, I bail him out and murder his bitch | |
| And then sedate her with my four pound clap | |
| Shit' s only rap | |
| But I' m livin like that | |
| So when while niggas be talkin dogs, and walkin like cats | |
| Niggas mouths were gettin way too fat | |
| But O. C. big FredOxxx, we bought to bring it back | |
| " Let' s go back" | |
| " I' m tellin it just like that" | |
| Chorus: O. C. Freddie Foxxx | |
| We be money under ground but you can' t get none | |
| Cuz if you step into my round, you be one dead son | |
| We get love where niggas be scared to come | |
| And we got a whole lot to give, but you don' t want none | |
| O. C. Freddie Foxxx both | |
| Any nigga play high post, I' m runnin over | |
| O. C. weigh tons like a fuckin Range Rover | |
| Tellin niggas to they face that the fassad is over | |
| Now it' s time for this real nigga shit, can you feel this? | |
| No question, we manifestin, what we feel | |
| Bust up in your session, smack niggas up like adolesce | |
| Like a D D, I can' t see a gang, no motherfuckin body, seein me | |
| That' s just pure fantasy | |
| True indeed son, we ain' t the one | |
| While niggas goin out like that, we bring it on like Scarface | |
| That' s means murder case, I bring highs to any base | |
| Disrespect the prosession | |
| So all of these beats and these rhymes attached | |
| Mean that real niggas on the mic, bringin it back | |
| It' s mad potent, like good crack, it' s type addicted | |
| All up in ya mind, you don' t wan' t hard times | |
| Chorus | |
| What? |
| zuò cí : Credle, Foxxx, Martin | |
| feat. Freddie Foxxx | |
| O. C. | |
| Penecilin on wax, the cure for rap | |
| Crooklyn Dodger number two back on the map | |
| Perhaps you thought I was gone, well surprise nigga | |
| Not physically, but I' mma massive figure | |
| Al Pacino status, the baddest, exotic | |
| Repition like a automatic, can' t stop it | |
| High floatin, po satin like coke snortin | |
| When Ise a fetus, moms thought about abortin | |
| Important, am I? gotta ask myself | |
| But then I think twice like a gemini | |
| Authentic, percentage, calculating my mind state | |
| Eat foods and fit it | |
| Bizarre pa, ain' t it, flow you thru like draino | |
| Lava, from a volcano | |
| Scorchin, torchin the microphone I lost it | |
| Poppin shit, who got my back | |
| Freddie Foxxx with the twin millies | |
| Burn a temperillo | |
| Aiyo Foxxx fuck these niggas | |
| Slice em up like an ox pop | |
| Freddie Foxxx | |
| Yeah | |
| Ok, it' s time to bring these rap cats from Fantasy Isle | |
| I bring it to these fake niggas with a quick and a smile | |
| You know my styile, America' s most feared entertainer | |
| Yeah from New York to Cali, I' m called an acid rainer | |
| While you frontin like ballin, son I stays in the mix | |
| Same bullets in your burner since ' 76 | |
| Act like you can' t tell, shit be live as hell | |
| Bustin so much shots, | |
| When my shells hit the ground it sound like " Rock the Bells" | |
| Call me Bumpy Knuckles cuz my hands be swell | |
| From knockin niggas out from the lies they tell | |
| Oh well, I bet you feel me all up in ya chest | |
| I make the saucest nigga catch a body blame it on stress | |
| And if he snitch, I bail him out and murder his bitch | |
| And then sedate her with my four pound clap | |
| Shit' s only rap | |
| But I' m livin like that | |
| So when while niggas be talkin dogs, and walkin like cats | |
| Niggas mouths were gettin way too fat | |
| But O. C. big FredOxxx, we bought to bring it back | |
| " Let' s go back" | |
| " I' m tellin it just like that" | |
| Chorus: O. C. Freddie Foxxx | |
| We be money under ground but you can' t get none | |
| Cuz if you step into my round, you be one dead son | |
| We get love where niggas be scared to come | |
| And we got a whole lot to give, but you don' t want none | |
| O. C. Freddie Foxxx both | |
| Any nigga play high post, I' m runnin over | |
| O. C. weigh tons like a fuckin Range Rover | |
| Tellin niggas to they face that the fassad is over | |
| Now it' s time for this real nigga shit, can you feel this? | |
| No question, we manifestin, what we feel | |
| Bust up in your session, smack niggas up like adolesce | |
| Like a D D, I can' t see a gang, no motherfuckin body, seein me | |
| That' s just pure fantasy | |
| True indeed son, we ain' t the one | |
| While niggas goin out like that, we bring it on like Scarface | |
| That' s means murder case, I bring highs to any base | |
| Disrespect the prosession | |
| So all of these beats and these rhymes attached | |
| Mean that real niggas on the mic, bringin it back | |
| It' s mad potent, like good crack, it' s type addicted | |
| All up in ya mind, you don' t wan' t hard times | |
| Chorus | |
| What? |
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