Obie Trice - Loot lyrics

rate me

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

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

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

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!