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Song title: Obie Trice - Loot

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(Intro)
Man they ain’t comin back for the cocaine
They came back mace

Yea!
Obie Trice
Yea
Obie Obie Trice
It’s that shit, nigga
Get it real nigga, no gimmicks
You know what I’m talkin bout
I need loot
I need loot

(Verse)
Coke boy, oh boy
Straight out the gutter where niggas have to fight for it
Risk yo life for it, take flight for it
Boxin awkward in the game just like Floyd
Crams rappin, wrappin em up in plastic
Put a tax on it to ship em off to addicts
Yall ain’t gotta aks about my actions
I was back in from the hood, a crack activist
(I need loot)
Nah I ain’t blow dough, sold it on the low low
Hustle up enough to put rims on the 4 door
Hoes in the momo, Obie it’s yo dolo
Motorola explode, I was deeply chased though
And I erase hoes
Bought some foreign cuts now where’s the pesos
O in the Oldsmobile, holdin on the dollar bill
Just forget a holler for lil mama or maybe Fields
Guess I’m a real nigga first
Caught a thrill when I’m pushin them pills, watch it disperse
Hoppin out the waffle house, with problem I phase you
Pager on my waist could probably feed a nation

(Hook)
I mean look
Straight slingin rocks
Oh man they come so crooked as… Trice!
Get it real nigga, no gimmicks
Pack guns, ridiculous

(Verse)
Hopin out the whips to straight out of this dixon
Throw a bar, eagle on the nine and you dip it
Super daddy-o, the champ sound audio
Those 15’s, I’m the man in the body-o
Allow me to take it back to 92
With a 40 ounce blue and a nigga like John Kru
Disrespect me, I gotta go see what the ruga do
Niggas don’t follow, you be with the losers prove
Beneath the core or whoever we love before
Cuz whoever we lovin now keep openin heaven’s door
Cuz they comin for sure, post-mortem some orphan
Forced to go up the hate, Obie Trice Aldrin
Kushin the tourists, wrapped up oranges
Drop it down somewhere cordial, don’t need a tourist
Tourist only here from some case, you can’t afford this
Money take a nigga through curses
Nigga I work for this, I murk for this
I erase your loved one who birthed yo bitch
Have mercy on them law that’s so powerful is
I kept a pistol on my purse and chest for this just for this

(Hook)
I mean look
Straight slingin rocks
Oh man they come so crooked as… Trice!
Get it real nigga, no gimmicks
Pack guns, ridiculous

(Verse)
Crack poppin, Obie know where it markin
Often mama had a problem with my logic
She ain’t never stopped so she dead, rest in peace Eleanor
All she ever wanted for them boys was what’s better for em
What you think I’m sellin for way before the bell out
Reapers on the porch watch a lady hit a mel out
First in 15, nigga hoe sex sell out
No disrespect, boy you wind up in yo mama shit
I’m just a hustler on some dope boy gunner smith

(Outro)
Straight slingin rocks
I’m just a hustler on some dope boy gunner smith
Straight slingin rocks
I’m just a hustler on some dope boy gunner smith
Yea!