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the o [bklyn] - do it lyrics

[verse 1]
from a dream, i’m wakin’ up the god once again
my motherf+ckin’ friend is the beats that i be kickin’
finger+l!ckin’ good, but someone else said
that the g’s better dead, but my head—
nevermind it, no
trying to get up in this world can be slow and
how sometimes i don’t know it
so my motha f+cka axed my head, said:

[chorus]
do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it do it, come on, come on, come on!
do it, do it, ah ah, do it, do it, do it, come on!
do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, do it, come on!
do it, do it, ah ah, do it, do it, do it, come on!

[verse 2]
smoke a ciggie, listenin’ to biggie, not ziggy
maybe bob marley, chris farley on the tv—r.i.p., he be fallin’
hear my namе callin’, no, i’m stallin’ in the hall and
smokin’ my dome, till it’s crazy like foam
but i’m homе all alone, and i can’t find the zone
like an irritating little blonde kid
wonder what john did—
lennon, not singleton, singles, some lps
they tease my mind, sayin’:
“where’s your motherf+ckin’ rhyme?”
but i’m… distracted, not interacted
dropping wack sh+t, wondering, “can i hack it?”
man, i gotta black it out
so i give my young girl here a shout (“h+llo?”)
[bridge]
but her voice, it’s not quite right—fright fillin’ me
illin’ me, where’s the penicillin? plea+ze, babe+uh, what’s wrong?
as i get ready for the same ol’ song:
she said:
“you’ve had it comin’ for a long, long time
tried, and i’m always sitting, waiting by the phone
you’ll make it up next time
all the time that i cried while you hide inside
there won’t be a next time anymore (because):
i found a boy who doesn’t live in clouds, he calls me every day
he always comes around and brings me all the things i love
he doesn’t have to run and hide, he cries, and he don’t hide away
he says he loved me, and he show me, so i know he really cares
i found my superman!
i found my superman! (i’m gone away)
i found my superman!
i found my superman!”
(yeah, but can the motherf+cka sound like this, though?)

[chorus]

[verse 3]
hang+hang up my brave face in disgrace, man, it hurts to get the heave+ho, doh!
screw it!
can’t daydream about gettin’ paid
when time can fade, and dreams can get mislaid
smoke, wait, concentrate, get back into the zone, d+mn
there goes the phone, pager, and the fax
and they all wanna ax:
“yo g, man, where’s the new tracks?”
lawyers to annoy us
immigration tryin’ ta get us out the nation
telemarketers wall to wall, carpenters
managers and a+r and agents, friends, parents on the phone
days, months, hours, weeks tryin’ to get the sample clearance
ahg! i can’t take much more
doubt’s in my mind
am i just wastin’ my time?
should i be down on my knees for the swine
at the record company, sayin’, “man, i’m hungry!”
beggin’, “please, can i have a little money?!”
but no! they try to pop us and drop us
jank us and jerk us, over and underwork us
patronize, criticize, over+n+lyze
under the guise of our ascent and rise
lies! (and i bet ya thought y’all had caught the o’s demise)
dress us, stress us, yes and no us
low+blow us, hoe us, tell but not show us
we play the lamb they play abraham son of moses
and money plays the part of god
which commands that the o get sacrificed
the price? years of hard work down the drain
what a shame…
down on the ground, laid out on the floor
shown the door, no future in store
flat on the mat
zero amount in the bank account
deep down underground in the
darkest, starkest, deepest, dankest, steepest
stankest, hopeless, bottomless, lifeless
ditch a’ deep pitch black…
[verse 4]
but now we’re back!
yeah! and we out for the crown with a brand+new sound
so get ya ass up off the mound
rnb pansies, lame grunge bands, please!
boardroom creations, cheap imitations
pasteurizations with limitations instead of innovations
so+called alternatives, not the word to give
try replacin’ with abomination
i accept your resignation, capitulation, or else
face extermination followed by cremation
and omit world superior domination!
at the hands of the pop sensations
in every d+mn one of the planet’s nations
comin’ out the bus, train radio on tv stations, it’s the o
the name is dg, ho, and standin’ next to me is the man nepo
so come along, smoke a bong, sing a song, rock on
word is bond, let’s get it on
with a new track for the misters+misters, or the ms
for the elderly and the kids, like they say in the uk
that’ll do the biz, and it motherf+ckin’ sounds like this!+
yeah!

[chorus]

- the o bklyn lyrics

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