Oh My Lord (LP)

Oh My Lord (LP)

The Notorious B.I.G.

featuring Notorious B.I.G.

[Kleptomaniac]

Why niggaz want to 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

Hook: Niggas say "Oh my lord!"

[Notorious B.I.G.]

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

Hook: repeat 4X

[Kleptomaniac]

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 cel 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 --

[Notorious B.I.G.]

-- 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

Hook

[Kleptomaniac]

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

[Notorious B.I.G.]

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)

BIG 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...

Written by WALLACE, CHRISTOPHER/GIDDIYS, TERRENCE/ARCHER, EDWARD K
Published by EMI Music Publishing, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.

Lyrics Provided By LyricFind Inc.

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