Obie Trice - Loot Lyrics
(Intro)Man they ain’t comin back for the cocaineThey came back maceYea!Obie TriceYeaObie Obie TriceIt’s that shit, niggaGet it real nigga, no gimmicksYou know what I’m talkin boutI need lootI need loot(Verse)Coke boy, oh boyStraight out the gutter where niggas have to fight for itRisk yo life for it, take flight for itBoxin awkward in the game just like FloydCrams rappin, wrappin em up in plasticPut a tax on it to ship em off to addictsYall ain’t gotta aks about my actionsI was back in from the hood, a crack activist(I need loot)Nah I ain’t blow dough, sold it on the low lowHustle up enough to put rims on the 4 doorHoes in the momo, Obie it’s yo doloMotorola explode, I was deeply chased thoughAnd I erase hoesBought some foreign cuts now where’s the pesosO in the Oldsmobile, holdin on the dollar billJust forget a holler for lil mama or maybe FieldsGuess I’m a real nigga firstCaught a thrill when I’m pushin them pills, watch it disperseHoppin out the waffle house, with problem I phase youPager on my waist could probably feed a nation(Hook)I mean lookStraight slingin rocksOh man they come so crooked as… Trice!Get it real nigga, no gimmicksPack guns, ridiculous(Verse)Hopin out the whips to straight out of this dixonThrow a bar, eagle on the nine and you dip itSuper daddy-o, the champ sound audioThose 15’s, I’m the man in the body-oAllow me to take it back to 92With a 40 ounce blue and a nigga like John KruDisrespect me, I gotta go see what the ruga doNiggas don’t follow, you be with the losers proveBeneath the core or whoever we love beforeCuz whoever we lovin now keep openin heaven’s doorCuz they comin for sure, post-mortem some orphanForced to go up the hate, Obie Trice AldrinKushin the tourists, wrapped up orangesDrop it down somewhere cordial, don’t need a touristTourist only here from some case, you can’t afford thisMoney take a nigga through cursesNigga I work for this, I murk for thisI erase your loved one who birthed yo *****Have mercy on them law that’s so powerful isI kept a pistol on my purse and chest for this just for this(Hook)I mean lookStraight slingin rocksOh man they come so crooked as… Trice!Get it real nigga, no gimmicksPack guns, ridiculous(Verse)Crack poppin, Obie know where it markinOften mama had a problem with my logicShe ain’t never stopped so she dead, rest in peace EleanorAll she ever wanted for them boys was what’s better for emWhat you think I’m sellin for way before the bell outReapers on the porch watch a lady hit a mel outFirst in 15, nigga hoe sex sell outNo disrespect, boy you wind up in yo mama shitI’m just a hustler on some dope boy gunner smith(Outro)Straight slingin rocksI’m just a hustler on some dope boy gunner smithStraight slingin rocksI’m just a hustler on some dope boy gunner smithYea!
