Junior M.A.F.I.A. - Oh My Lord lyrics

Why n***az want to clock me? Like that dance called the chachi Don't they know I break motherf**ers into parts like Rocky Part I part II part III n***az can't f** with me My style's knock kneed plum crazy (what?) Who's that wild a** motherf**er catchin wreck Stickin Jamaicans for sound sets outside discoteques It's Klep the d**h specialist Stallone and Stone sh** 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***az can't f** with my metaphors Canin MC's like they in Singapore; Klep been through more wards Than Humphrey Shore, 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**y collector Got your b**h on my dick and I ain't even stressin her Check enough s** in her, my styles are regular Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique moves in like the senator n***as say "Oh my lord!" Throw gats to Guiliani Flows tighter than b**hes punani, try me, die G Dangerous, since my daddy bust me out The tip of his dick, Biggie Smalls with the wickedest sh** Spit clips, n***az split like bananas Flavour like Tropicana; orange, mango, peach I strangle each,negro for they dough n***az 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***as say "Oh my lord!" n***as say "Oh my lord!" n***as say "Oh my lord!" n***as 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** f** a job sh**, n***az want cribs, bricks and spliffs All-wheel automobiles, traction control For clay roads, rollin with dough, kickin game On the cel with b**hes on hold, that's how we roll (uhh) Rhymes got tight as hell 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***az frontin, feelin twelve gauge pellets BIG is repellant, to all that "He say, she say" We play, Russian roulette, f** the threat Your whole crew's vagina, you and your co-signer n***a, we rollin in eight and a halfs, TV's in the dash Three G's in the stash, see we love the cash No coke, then get some more n***as say "Oh my lord!" n***as say "Oh my lord!" n***as say "Oh my lord!" n***as say "Oh my lord!" n***az don't know bout my game, they don't know How complex it is, baggin b**hes in GS 300 Lexuses And the s** is for summer sports Pa**ports for drug transports to remote resorts b**hes with Donna Karan "Catwoman" suits, matchin figure boots Haircut cute, on tops and garters like prostitutes My lyrics explicit Got b**hes bringin they own condoms on the first visit If Biggie bring big bowls of beef Backin b**h n***az down, burners bring bundles of belief Common thief, slash drug chief, syndicated Went from 10 K, to 24 K and motherf**ers hate it J.M. sedated, quarantined (uhh) BIG 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***az disrespect just are dead...