Oh My Lord (Junior M.A.F.I.A.)

Why niggaz wanna clock me? Like that dance called the Chachi Don't they know I break motherfuckers into parts like Rocky Part I, part II, part III, niggaz can't fuck with me My style's knock-kneed plum crazy (What?) Who's that wild ass motherfucker catchin' wreck Stickin' Jamaicans for sound sets outside discoteques It's Klep the death specialist, Stallone and Stone shit 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) Niggaz can't fuck 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, pussy collector Got your bitch on my dick and I ain't even stressin' her Check enough sex in her, my styles are regular Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique moves in like the senator Niggas say, "Oh my Lord" Throw gats to Guiliani Flows tighter than bitches Punani, try me, die G Dangerous, since my daddy bust me out The tip of his dick, Biggie Smalls with the wickedest shit Spit clips, niggaz split like bananas Flavour like Tropicana, orange, mango, peach I strangle each negro for they dough Niggaz 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 Niggas say, "Oh my Lord" Niggas say, "Oh my Lord" Niggas say, "Oh my Lord" Niggas 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' shit Fuck a job shit, niggaz want cribs, bricks and spliffs All-wheel automobiles, traction control For clay roads, rollin' with dough, kickin' game On the cell with bitches 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 Niggaz frontin', feelin' twelve gauge pellets BIG is repellant, to all that, "He say, she say" We play, Russian roulette, fuck the threat Your whole crew's vagina, you and your co-signer Nigga, 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 Niggas say, "Oh my Lord" Niggaz don't know 'bout my game They don't know how complex it is Baggin' bitches in GS 300 Lexuses And the sex is for summer sports Passports for drug transports to remote resorts Bitches with Donna Karan, "Catwoman" suits, matchin' figure boots Haircut cute, on tops and garters like prostitutes My lyrics explicit Got bitches bringin' they own condoms on the first visit If Biggie bring big bowls of beef Backin' bitch niggaz down, burners bring bundles of belief Common thief, slash drug chief, syndicated Went from 10 K to 24 K and motherfuckers 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 Niggaz disrespect just are dead