[Intro: O & E]

Yo, O, pick up the phone, it’s E

Yo, yo, what up, E? What up?

Yo, what’s going on, kid?

Chilling, man, what’s going on with you?

Yo, you heard the O.C. shit?

Yeah, yeah, that shit is flavor, kid. What’s the word? Yo, yo

Yo

Man, yo, well, talk to you later, man

[Verse: O.C.]

Uh

I never ran from a man unless Glock get cocked in my face

I dash before the *gunshot*

Dissed the sister ‘cause she didn’t like ya, mister

Bust your ego on down like a blister

The party was packed

In fact black ladies with back were stacked inside of the place like flapjacks

First of all, what you call hardcore? Who’s hardcore?

I gets grit in your teeth and lock in your jaw

Mess hall is filled with crooks and criminals

Ill type of characters giving up ill subliminals

Get nostalgia from a rhyme that I wrote long time ago

Found this place, I figured “Who would know?”

The body’s a poem, talking ‘bout the mind more powerful than anything known to mankind

My flight has begun, stand clear of the runway

The only way I see you killing me is with gunplay

In many ways and more peeps die in the raw

Flip the word around, now “raw” spells “war”

Never could I kill a man to fill a void of prosperous life

He gets burnt like phosphorus

Crooked your face from the slap of my base in your grill piece

You’re the lamb I took fleece from

You underestimate the quest of fate

Destined for a date with O.C. the Great, ha

Ruling benevolence over a girl named Evelyn

Getting woman to succeed in my field of medicine

Fuck the ones who adjourned my concern with all-out conceit

I cop the Ogee beats

Balance, not bullets, the world is already full of nonsense

So I’ll contribute to your conscience

O (Yeah?), raise up the kicks (Hmm), pop back in the disc

Make it feel as though the slapping of a fist

Flip verses, skip curses, dodge hearses

Collect fat purses, stay surface above the dead planet

Earth of granite

A thousand emcees of my sex is satanic

I’m sticking to my comments, never rap nonsense

The metaphoric title of my table of contents is logic

No such thing as modern, out and achieve

But some are still deadweight, rock-bottom

Talking shhh, sparking for nothing

Barking up the wrong damn tree, homie, slice cold-bluffing

Alas, ain’t nothing mashing just for fashion

What’s the object? It’s, like, no main topic

[Outro: Prince Po]

No doubt, baby pop

We do it like this, uh, nonstop

One time we gotta rock

O.C. for the ‘94 flavor

We do it like this, sending your whole career to the grave

One time for your mind

Going back to the lyrics with no tricks

Uplifting your spirits with no gimmicks

We do it just like this one time, uh

The sess is in effect, we do it like this

Prince Po’ll catch wreck one time

With no main topic...

I’ll break it down like that