Vinnie Paz, Reef the Lost Cauze, Burke the Jurke - OPG Theme lyrics
[Vinnie Paz, Reef the Lost Cauze, Burke the Jurke - OPG Theme lyrics]
We puff cigars and sip Jesus juice
To get dough I don't need a booth
Long as crack smokes and needles shoot
Unbelievable, a lethal crew, a evil rule
I be in Cali smoking diesel
You never leave the room
You in your crib just clickety-clackin
Typin' messages about how niggas be rappin'
Like, "He used to spit fire, like really
What happened?"
You really need cabbage cause
You simply a faggot, cocksucker
Why your jaw's tight? Ayo I'm sick
I got a wild bitch who strangled
You to death like Arturo's wife
Rest in peace to all of
Those who died tragically
Steve McNair got a nigga scared
To eat at Applebees i mean Dave & Buster's
And I don’t give a fuck about my own life
So it's nothing for me to take another
Your bitch is a freak, she said
"Take a number"
We ran trizznain, that bitch say
"Take a number"
Ayo, I weigh about a deuce and a half
And maneuver too fast for you losers to grasp
You're not eludin' my wrath
Grab the duffelbag and scoop the
Loot and the cash
I subtract you from your stash and
Now you do the math
I sit on the church steps with
The booze in a flask i love the sound of the
Music from a funeral man
Want me to google your producer, man
You dudes should just asa
I see through you like glass
And my goons just laugh
Take a swig of the Grey Goose
Take a trip to Jesus get your gay troops
Turn your strip to Beirut
This is fight music
I ain't widowed a comrade
This is combat, give your sister her son back
I'm reppin OPG, you got OCD
Your shit is one dimensional, my flow's 3D
They they say that I'm as gritty as ODB
Or Dirt McGirt
But they call me Burke the Jurke
Pazienza and Lost Cauze drunken with the 44s
I just mangled the fucking mic, pussy
It's all yours
I don't need to spit sixteens
You done in four bars fat motherfucker
I only eat it if it's four stars
When you knocked out cold it's
Hard to fight back
Street pharmacist with more pills
Than Mike Jack
I don't wanna listen to y'all
Y'all shit is type wack
I been eatin' rappers for years
You just a light snack ayo Sharif
Burn these motherfuckers at the stake
They ain't gonna get a chance
To learn from they mistake
Death is comin for you motherfuckers
Save the day everything I spit is equivalent
To a Mason's hate
This is Pazienza, the Official Pistol Gang
And we was born and bred in Killadelphia
Pistolvane
The 38 or 45, see, every pistol bang
They can levitate your body and
They can rip through brain
To get dough I don't need a booth
Long as crack smokes and needles shoot
Unbelievable, a lethal crew, a evil rule
I be in Cali smoking diesel
You never leave the room
You in your crib just clickety-clackin
Typin' messages about how niggas be rappin'
Like, "He used to spit fire, like really
What happened?"
You really need cabbage cause
You simply a faggot, cocksucker
Why your jaw's tight? Ayo I'm sick
I got a wild bitch who strangled
You to death like Arturo's wife
Rest in peace to all of
Those who died tragically
Steve McNair got a nigga scared
To eat at Applebees i mean Dave & Buster's
And I don’t give a fuck about my own life
So it's nothing for me to take another
Your bitch is a freak, she said
"Take a number"
We ran trizznain, that bitch say
"Take a number"
Ayo, I weigh about a deuce and a half
And maneuver too fast for you losers to grasp
You're not eludin' my wrath
Grab the duffelbag and scoop the
Loot and the cash
I subtract you from your stash and
Now you do the math
I sit on the church steps with
The booze in a flask i love the sound of the
Music from a funeral man
Want me to google your producer, man
You dudes should just asa
I see through you like glass
And my goons just laugh
Take a swig of the Grey Goose
Take a trip to Jesus get your gay troops
Turn your strip to Beirut
This is fight music
I ain't widowed a comrade
This is combat, give your sister her son back
I'm reppin OPG, you got OCD
Your shit is one dimensional, my flow's 3D
They they say that I'm as gritty as ODB
Or Dirt McGirt
But they call me Burke the Jurke
Pazienza and Lost Cauze drunken with the 44s
I just mangled the fucking mic, pussy
It's all yours
I don't need to spit sixteens
You done in four bars fat motherfucker
I only eat it if it's four stars
When you knocked out cold it's
Hard to fight back
Street pharmacist with more pills
Than Mike Jack
I don't wanna listen to y'all
Y'all shit is type wack
I been eatin' rappers for years
You just a light snack ayo Sharif
Burn these motherfuckers at the stake
They ain't gonna get a chance
To learn from they mistake
Death is comin for you motherfuckers
Save the day everything I spit is equivalent
To a Mason's hate
This is Pazienza, the Official Pistol Gang
And we was born and bred in Killadelphia
Pistolvane
The 38 or 45, see, every pistol bang
They can levitate your body and
They can rip through brain