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letra de outro (cheers) - obie trice

[intro: eminem]
nah, we ain’t done!

[verse 1: eminem]
i love being hated, it’s great, it lets me know that i made it
i wouldn’t have it no other way, i wouldn’t trade it for the world
only let’s me know that i’m loved
by so many other motherf-ckers that ain’t you, and it’s bugged
’cause you keep f-cking with us, we keep f-cking you up
and keep pulling the rug from up under you
and what’s even more f-cked up, is we enjoy what we’re doing
so much there ain’t nothing that we love more than “pulling your skirts up”
and exposing you hoes so much, people are starting to wonder
what’s up with them f-cking wonder woman underoos?
do unto others of you will have done unto you
so who the f-ck you motherf-ckers gonna run to
when someone runs up with a mask and puts a gun to you?
you gon’ ask yourself, how come your mans
didn’t empty that last round that he had in curtis jackson’s -ss while he had the chance?
you keep asking us to keep it on wax but we can’t
this is past any rationalization
we have captured national media attention
conversation is senseless, you can sense the tension start building
soon as we enter the 106 & park building
someone’s gonna get k!lled and i swear to god
if someone so much as even touches one of my people
i’ll put a million on his head
and you ain’t got the funds to match or counteract it
but i’d rather rap than get into this gangsta sh-t
and it ain’t because i’m a b-tch
it’s because i ain’t a b-tch, i don’t endanger people that i’m with
i’m a general, i ain’t bush, i don’t send my soldiers to war
i’m right there in the middle of the sh-t with ’em, so when i do get ’em
orders to storm your headquarters, you’ll be f-cking with a

[verse 2: swifty mcvay]
f-cking with a beef keeper, see you ain’t eager to greet this lyrical meat cleaver
that’ll eat ya, n-ggas wanna keep speaking
like it ain’t even that deep
i got heat that’ll sweep a n-gga’s street
see i wouldn’t f-ck with me neither, only heaven can help ya
i’ll be searching for you longer than the legend of zelda
without a failure, there’s gonna be h-ll to tell the
captain that a b-sset hound couldn’t even smell ya
body, when i hide ya, i be on that mob sh-t
you another hoffa, under the renaissance, b-tch!
you get bombed like lebanon with my own tactic
i sn-tch your head like one of saddam’s kids

[verse 3: obie trice]
motherf-cker, i’ll handle you, we can have it out on any avenue
an “average man” flipped into an animal
shoot out your mandibles, cannons and ammunition
reload with precision, n-gga, know the mechanicals
break the pistol down, you should see them handles
the street taught the child, no read up manuals
pushing crack vows, young nino brown
chasing green is the dream, when you’re young and brown
bound to be a problem child, look what i’m involved in now
a ‘dozen dirty’ n-ggas and they all get down
resolve any problem that enlarge with ours
when revolvers we said “all men get down”
(kuniva!)

[verse 4: kuniva]
while you’re punching and tackling punks
i’m handling chumps, packing a pump
that’s longer than the elephant trunk
on the streets i’m a beast, i feast upon the weak
so speak beef, i’ll shoot you and scream “increase the peace”
a monster, pistol packing, pushing n-ggas off they hondas
stomp you, get it cracking, yanking b-tches for they ganja
sneaky as f-ck, i don’t think mama beat me enough
when she was sleeping stuff, i was stealing the keys to the truck
shut the f-ck up! before you end up dead in the dump truck
or in the streets taking a nap, bleeding and lugged up
“who want what?” like m. bleek, with this heat if you ten deep
then f-ck it, it will be ten sleeping

[verse 5: proof]
know much’bout meyer lansky, don’t tussle with my hand speed
clutch your burner, bust it and watch your man bleed
we ferocious, toast no holsters
approach us, throw heat straight from the shoulders
we the soldiers, yall the youngsters (ha)
youngsters lungs puncture, dead in a dumpster
upstairs the monsters, hand full of drama
you scared of the drama, bomber the monster (boof!)
i’m back n-gga (proof!), i reappear
shoot like, homie ain’t seeing clear
blackness, carc-ss covered with cat fish
we murkers with no purpose other than practice
(bizzy!)

[verse 6: bizarre]
there’s three things i hate: liars, fakes and cheaters
alcoholics, sl-ts and f-cking wife beaters
i guess that describes my life
i don’t even know who song this is (obie trice)
b-tch, bizarre don’t give a f-ck about no hip hop
at my release party in a pink tank top and reeboks
this ja rule beef i ain’t getting in
i’ll need an r&b singer to sing at my wedding
i’ll turn your face into a f-cking meat patty
i’ll f-ck your mommy and go fishing with your granny
i’ll sh-t on you, i’ll pee on r. kelly, too
this is bizarre, see you “devil’s night 2”

- obie trice

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