| 作词 : Credle, Dewgarde, Ward | |
| "One, two, yeah and you don't stop" | |
| "One, two, huh and you don't stop" | |
| "Ah check it out" | |
| [O.C.] | |
| Style like somethin the microphone fiend would spark | |
| Sort of reminiscing, of how it used to go down in the parks | |
| Equipment ropped off, you can hear the vagas echo for miles and breath | |
| Bass pounds the asphalt | |
| Thunder vibration shake like a tremble from a earthquake and | |
| O.C. a classic in the making, mental make thoughts | |
| My physical form words | |
| Hot in my mouth like a joust, no doubt | |
| Some a phenomenon, mic technician, electrician | |
| Spit the mic down the middle like an el producto | |
| And throughout the resin, then asapoltin this shit | |
| Gift to gather a rhyme, make rap a staired son | |
| The way I do this, switch up the fluid | |
| So smooth you wanna persuie it | |
| I'm raw like underground sewage you | |
| This shit for insight? Well I'm back, never was gone | |
| What I right, be tighter than pin stripes | |
| Born by mob boss, my flause in affect on the mic | |
| Keep it tight, with out a fight is raw, it's only right | |
| [sample from live event] | |
| I know it's hot, we hot too | |
| You ready to throw down, we ready to have a party | |
| So if ya ready to have a party, make some noise! | |
| [O.C.] | |
| Any mic I hold it in the grip of my palm | |
| I wave it over the crowd | |
| Dictatin shit like Genghis Khan | |
| Nonchalantly deliver the flow like drug traffic schoolin | |
| Bringin samatics to this rap shit | |
| Bonafied, mic set you can't see me on it | |
| Master the art, so now I just flaunt it | |
| Born to live, a life and die until then | |
| Imma keep on writin the slick rhymes with the pen | |
| Take the cherry from a tree, like a virgin havin innocence | |
| Bust my nuts, bringin rhymes to live like Genesis | |
| But ritical renaissance | |
| In death there's a flautless | |
| Tearin shit up when it comes to me pickin up a cordless | |
| One of New York's finest, on this trip I co-incide with B Minus | |
| Bringin out the best in me, we formulatin like a recipe | |
| What I emplore, will show nuff disto my presence | |
| Then I'm divine like the seven | |
| Keepin it tight cuz what safice is raw nigga, it's only right | |
| [Chorus x4] | |
| [O.C.] | |
| Microphone's I melt down, slap crowns, push em out of bounds | |
| Crush ya crowd, as I lay my third verse down | |
| Because, this is what I want, to gain control of that position | |
| It's only right, that I follow thru compition | |
| Be warning me, homocide rhymes or mad rounds | |
| To get flass or pencil hurt, battin me down | |
| Contents flex text expert, since my born date | |
| 5/13/71 like a stick bin, injection | |
| Inside ya blood stream, digest what I manifest | |
| O.C., you best by me, others are mediocre like | |
| I slam the earth like a meteor right | |
| Cuz I'mma take mine, leavin you face down in the puddle | |
| Blow up like a shuttle, when I give you my rebuttle | |
| Frame of mind, across state lines | |
| Await the taste, me like fine wines from Avidian | |
| For those who wanna select cyphers to cyphers stash | |
| Straight up, I don't rhyme for niggas | |
| I prove myself, stylin for years on the mic | |
| On another level of being, what's the B Minus? It's only right | |
| [Chorus x4] |
| zuo ci : Credle, Dewgarde, Ward | |
| " One, two, yeah and you don' t stop" | |
| " One, two, huh and you don' t stop" | |
| " Ah check it out" | |
| O. C. | |
| Style like somethin the microphone fiend would spark | |
| Sort of reminiscing, of how it used to go down in the parks | |
| Equipment ropped off, you can hear the vagas echo for miles and breath | |
| Bass pounds the asphalt | |
| Thunder vibration shake like a tremble from a earthquake and | |
| O. C. a classic in the making, mental make thoughts | |
| My physical form words | |
| Hot in my mouth like a joust, no doubt | |
| Some a phenomenon, mic technician, electrician | |
| Spit the mic down the middle like an el producto | |
| And throughout the resin, then asapoltin this shit | |
| Gift to gather a rhyme, make rap a staired son | |
| The way I do this, switch up the fluid | |
| So smooth you wanna persuie it | |
| I' m raw like underground sewage you | |
| This shit for insight? Well I' m back, never was gone | |
| What I right, be tighter than pin stripes | |
| Born by mob boss, my flause in affect on the mic | |
| Keep it tight, with out a fight is raw, it' s only right | |
| sample from live event | |
| I know it' s hot, we hot too | |
| You ready to throw down, we ready to have a party | |
| So if ya ready to have a party, make some noise! | |
| O. C. | |
| Any mic I hold it in the grip of my palm | |
| I wave it over the crowd | |
| Dictatin shit like Genghis Khan | |
| Nonchalantly deliver the flow like drug traffic schoolin | |
| Bringin samatics to this rap shit | |
| Bonafied, mic set you can' t see me on it | |
| Master the art, so now I just flaunt it | |
| Born to live, a life and die until then | |
| Imma keep on writin the slick rhymes with the pen | |
| Take the cherry from a tree, like a virgin havin innocence | |
| Bust my nuts, bringin rhymes to live like Genesis | |
| But ritical renaissance | |
| In death there' s a flautless | |
| Tearin shit up when it comes to me pickin up a cordless | |
| One of New York' s finest, on this trip I coincide with B Minus | |
| Bringin out the best in me, we formulatin like a recipe | |
| What I emplore, will show nuff disto my presence | |
| Then I' m divine like the seven | |
| Keepin it tight cuz what safice is raw nigga, it' s only right | |
| Chorus x4 | |
| O. C. | |
| Microphone' s I melt down, slap crowns, push em out of bounds | |
| Crush ya crowd, as I lay my third verse down | |
| Because, this is what I want, to gain control of that position | |
| It' s only right, that I follow thru compition | |
| Be warning me, homocide rhymes or mad rounds | |
| To get flass or pencil hurt, battin me down | |
| Contents flex text expert, since my born date | |
| 5 13 71 like a stick bin, injection | |
| Inside ya blood stream, digest what I manifest | |
| O. C., you best by me, others are mediocre like | |
| I slam the earth like a meteor right | |
| Cuz I' mma take mine, leavin you face down in the puddle | |
| Blow up like a shuttle, when I give you my rebuttle | |
| Frame of mind, across state lines | |
| Await the taste, me like fine wines from Avidian | |
| For those who wanna select cyphers to cyphers stash | |
| Straight up, I don' t rhyme for niggas | |
| I prove myself, stylin for years on the mic | |
| On another level of being, what' s the B Minus? It' s only right | |
| Chorus x4 |
| zuò cí : Credle, Dewgarde, Ward | |
| " One, two, yeah and you don' t stop" | |
| " One, two, huh and you don' t stop" | |
| " Ah check it out" | |
| O. C. | |
| Style like somethin the microphone fiend would spark | |
| Sort of reminiscing, of how it used to go down in the parks | |
| Equipment ropped off, you can hear the vagas echo for miles and breath | |
| Bass pounds the asphalt | |
| Thunder vibration shake like a tremble from a earthquake and | |
| O. C. a classic in the making, mental make thoughts | |
| My physical form words | |
| Hot in my mouth like a joust, no doubt | |
| Some a phenomenon, mic technician, electrician | |
| Spit the mic down the middle like an el producto | |
| And throughout the resin, then asapoltin this shit | |
| Gift to gather a rhyme, make rap a staired son | |
| The way I do this, switch up the fluid | |
| So smooth you wanna persuie it | |
| I' m raw like underground sewage you | |
| This shit for insight? Well I' m back, never was gone | |
| What I right, be tighter than pin stripes | |
| Born by mob boss, my flause in affect on the mic | |
| Keep it tight, with out a fight is raw, it' s only right | |
| sample from live event | |
| I know it' s hot, we hot too | |
| You ready to throw down, we ready to have a party | |
| So if ya ready to have a party, make some noise! | |
| O. C. | |
| Any mic I hold it in the grip of my palm | |
| I wave it over the crowd | |
| Dictatin shit like Genghis Khan | |
| Nonchalantly deliver the flow like drug traffic schoolin | |
| Bringin samatics to this rap shit | |
| Bonafied, mic set you can' t see me on it | |
| Master the art, so now I just flaunt it | |
| Born to live, a life and die until then | |
| Imma keep on writin the slick rhymes with the pen | |
| Take the cherry from a tree, like a virgin havin innocence | |
| Bust my nuts, bringin rhymes to live like Genesis | |
| But ritical renaissance | |
| In death there' s a flautless | |
| Tearin shit up when it comes to me pickin up a cordless | |
| One of New York' s finest, on this trip I coincide with B Minus | |
| Bringin out the best in me, we formulatin like a recipe | |
| What I emplore, will show nuff disto my presence | |
| Then I' m divine like the seven | |
| Keepin it tight cuz what safice is raw nigga, it' s only right | |
| Chorus x4 | |
| O. C. | |
| Microphone' s I melt down, slap crowns, push em out of bounds | |
| Crush ya crowd, as I lay my third verse down | |
| Because, this is what I want, to gain control of that position | |
| It' s only right, that I follow thru compition | |
| Be warning me, homocide rhymes or mad rounds | |
| To get flass or pencil hurt, battin me down | |
| Contents flex text expert, since my born date | |
| 5 13 71 like a stick bin, injection | |
| Inside ya blood stream, digest what I manifest | |
| O. C., you best by me, others are mediocre like | |
| I slam the earth like a meteor right | |
| Cuz I' mma take mine, leavin you face down in the puddle | |
| Blow up like a shuttle, when I give you my rebuttle | |
| Frame of mind, across state lines | |
| Await the taste, me like fine wines from Avidian | |
| For those who wanna select cyphers to cyphers stash | |
| Straight up, I don' t rhyme for niggas | |
| I prove myself, stylin for years on the mic | |
| On another level of being, what' s the B Minus? It' s only right | |
| Chorus x4 |
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