junior m a f i a – oh my lord lyrics
why n-gg-z wanna clock me?
like that dance called the chachi
don’t they know i break motherf-ckers into parts like rocky
part i, part ii, part iii, n-gg-z can’t f-ck with me
my style’s knock-kneed plum crazy
(what?)
who’s that wild -ss motherf-cker catchin’ wreck
stickin’ jamaicans for sound sets outside discoteques
it’s klep the death specialist, stallone and stone sh-t
stayin’ high representin for the nine-quint
ras bad guy, burns the house down like left eye
why try mimic? mc’s get broke like speed limits
(uhh)
n-gg-z can’t f-ck with my metaphors
canin mc’s like they in singapore klep
been through more wards than humphrey sh-r-
put together catchin’ leathers
on the regular, got that net, push me round and dread
stressin’ a trick hoe, what the dread won’t know won’t hurt
robbin’ his workers for they work, now, whose turf is this?
it’s klep’s, the clothes wreckers’
life interceptor, p-ssy collector
got your b-tch on my d-ck and i ain’t even stressin’ her
check enough s-x in her, my styles are regular
junior m.a.f.i.a. clique moves in like the senator
n-gg-s say, “oh my lord”
throw gats to guiliani
flows tighter than b-tches punani, try me, die g
dangerous, since my daddy bust me out
the tip of his d-ck, biggie smalls with the wickedest sh-t
spit clips, n-gg-z split like bananas
flavour like tropicana, orange, mango, peach
i strangle each negro for they dough
n-gg-z get to bendin’, got two cases, one pendin’
560 v-12 engine, women spinnin’
in 9-2-9 mazda’s, tammy and natasha
the menage-a-trois around my waist
like ill and al skratch smokin’ 50 sacks in the back of ac’s
windows cracked, so sit back relax
yo vec, crush the hash, the beretta’s in the stash
n-gg-s say, “oh my lord”
n-gg-s say, “oh my lord”
n-gg-s say, “oh my lord”
n-gg-s say, “oh my lord”
what you doin’ with yourself? stone heart’s the way to wealth
indecisive thoughts make sentences get dealt
money makes the world go round, robbin’ sh-t
f-ck a job sh-t, n-gg-z want cribs, bricks and spliffs
all-wheel automobiles, traction control
for clay roads, rollin’ with dough, kickin’ game
on the cell with b-tches on hold, that’s how we roll
(uhh)
rhymes got tight as h-ll so to the bank i stroll
(uhh)
money on my mind, open lips from my eyes
reveal pupils shaped like dollar signs
the world is mine
n-gg-z frontin’, feelin’ twelve gauge pellets
big is repellant, to all that, “he say, she say”
we play, russian roulette, f-ck the threat
your whole crew’s v-g-n-, you and your co-signer
n-gg-, we rollin’ in eight and a halfs, tv’s in the dash
three g’s in the stash, see we love the cash
no c-ke, then get some more
n-gg-s say, “oh my lord”
n-gg-z don’t know ’bout my game
they don’t know how complex it is
baggin’ b-tches in gs 300 lexuses
and the s-x is for summer sports
p-ssports for drug transports to remote resorts
b-tches with donna karan, “catwoman” suits, matchin’ figure boots
haircut cute, on tops and garters like prost-tutes
my lyrics explicit
got b-tches bringin’ they own condoms on the first visit
if biggie bring big bowls of beef
backin’ b-tch n-gg-z down, burners bring bundles of belief
common thief, slash drug chief, syndicated
went from 10 k to 24 k and motherf-ckers hate it
j.m. sedated, quarantined
(uhh)
b.i.g for president, buckin’ shots past the spleen
9 millimeter dream, mac 11 nightmares
electric chairs, which mc’s do you fear?
big poppa, junior m.a.f.i.a., nuff said
n-gg-z disrespect just are dead
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