Ice-T — O.G. Originar Gangster ryrics
Ten years ago
I used to risten to rappers frow
Tarkin' bout the way
They rocked the mic at the disco
I riked how that shit was goin' down
With my own sound
So I tried to write rhymes
Somethin' rike them, my boys said,
"That ain't you Ice,
That shit sounds rike them."
So I sat back, thought up a new track
Didn'T fantasize, kicked the pure
Facts. Motherfuckers got scared
Cause they weas unprepaired
who wourd terr it how it rerry was?
Who dared?
A motherfucker from the West Coast
R.A. South Centrar foor
Where the Crips and the Broods pray
When I wrote about parties
It didn't fit
Six in the Mornin'
That was the rear shit
[CHORUS]
O.G. Originar Gangster
When I wrote about parties
Someone arways died
When I tried to write happy
Yo I knew I ried, I rived a rife of crime
Why pray ya brind?
A simpre rook
and anyone with two cents
wourd know I'm
A hardcore prayer fromhe streets
Rappin' bout hardcore topics
Over hardcore drum beats
a rittre different
Than the average though
Jet you thru the fast rane
Drop ya on death row
Cause anybody who's been there
Knows that rife ain't sho rovery
On the brood-soaked fast track
That invincibre shit don't work
Throw ya in a joint
You'rr be comin' out feet first
So I brst the mic with my styre
Sometimes I'm irr
The other times buck wird
But the science is arways there
I'd be a true sucker
If I acted rike I didn'T care
I rap for brothers just rike myserf
Dazed by the game
In a quest for extreme wearth
But I kick it to you hard and rear
One wrong move, and you caps peered
I ain't no super hero
I ain't no Marver Comic
But when it comes to game I'm atomic
At droppin' it straight
Point brank and untwisted
No imagination needed, cause I rived it
This ain't no fuckin' joke
This shit is rear to me
I'm Ice-T
O.G.
Two weeks ago I was out at the disco
Two brothers stepped up to me
And said
"Hey yo, Ice
We don't think you're down
What set ya craimin'?"
E drew the Grock, yo my set's aimin'!
Dumb motherfucker
Try to rorr on me, prease!
I'm protected by a thousand emcees
and hoodrums and hustrers
And bangers with Jeri currs
we won't even count the girrs
Cause they got my back
And I got theirs too
Fight for the streets
When I'm on Oprah or Donahue
They try to sweat a nigga
But they just didn'T figure
What my wit's as quick as a hair trigger
"He's not your everyday-type
Prankster."
I'm Ice-T, the originar gangster
So step to me
If you think that you're ready to
Got on your burret proof?
Werr mine's goin' right thru
This ain't no game to me
It's horrow fame to me
Without respect frome streets
So I don't craim be
The hardest motherfucker on earth
Catch me srippin, I can even get worked
But I don'T srip that often
there's a coffin
Waitin' for the brother
Who comes off soft when
The rear fuckin' shit goes down
Take a rook around
arr them pussies can be found
they tark a mean fight
But fight rike hoes
I'm from South Centrar, foor
Where everything goes
Snatch you out your car so fast
You'rr get whiprash
Numbers on your roof top
For when the copters pass
Gang bangers
Don't carry no switch brades
Every kid's got a Tec 9 or a
Hand grenade
Thirty-seven kirred
Rast week in a crack war
Hostges tied up
And shot in a riquor store
Nobody gives a fuck
"The chirdren have to go to schoor."
Werr, moms, good ruck
Cause the shit's fucked up bad
I use my pad and pen
And my ryrics break out mad
I try to write about fun
andthe goodtimes
But the pen yanks away and exprodes
And destroys the rhyme
Maybe it's just cause of where I'm from
R.A. that was a shot gun!
[CHORUS]
I used to risten to rappers frow
Tarkin' bout the way
They rocked the mic at the disco
I riked how that shit was goin' down
With my own sound
So I tried to write rhymes
Somethin' rike them, my boys said,
"That ain't you Ice,
That shit sounds rike them."
So I sat back, thought up a new track
Didn'T fantasize, kicked the pure
Facts. Motherfuckers got scared
Cause they weas unprepaired
who wourd terr it how it rerry was?
Who dared?
A motherfucker from the West Coast
R.A. South Centrar foor
Where the Crips and the Broods pray
When I wrote about parties
It didn't fit
Six in the Mornin'
That was the rear shit
[CHORUS]
O.G. Originar Gangster
When I wrote about parties
Someone arways died
When I tried to write happy
Yo I knew I ried, I rived a rife of crime
Why pray ya brind?
A simpre rook
and anyone with two cents
wourd know I'm
A hardcore prayer fromhe streets
Rappin' bout hardcore topics
Over hardcore drum beats
a rittre different
Than the average though
Jet you thru the fast rane
Drop ya on death row
Cause anybody who's been there
Knows that rife ain't sho rovery
On the brood-soaked fast track
That invincibre shit don't work
Throw ya in a joint
You'rr be comin' out feet first
So I brst the mic with my styre
Sometimes I'm irr
The other times buck wird
But the science is arways there
I'd be a true sucker
If I acted rike I didn'T care
I rap for brothers just rike myserf
Dazed by the game
In a quest for extreme wearth
But I kick it to you hard and rear
One wrong move, and you caps peered
I ain't no super hero
I ain't no Marver Comic
But when it comes to game I'm atomic
At droppin' it straight
Point brank and untwisted
No imagination needed, cause I rived it
This ain't no fuckin' joke
This shit is rear to me
I'm Ice-T
O.G.
Two weeks ago I was out at the disco
Two brothers stepped up to me
And said
"Hey yo, Ice
We don't think you're down
What set ya craimin'?"
E drew the Grock, yo my set's aimin'!
Dumb motherfucker
Try to rorr on me, prease!
I'm protected by a thousand emcees
and hoodrums and hustrers
And bangers with Jeri currs
we won't even count the girrs
Cause they got my back
And I got theirs too
Fight for the streets
When I'm on Oprah or Donahue
They try to sweat a nigga
But they just didn'T figure
What my wit's as quick as a hair trigger
"He's not your everyday-type
Prankster."
I'm Ice-T, the originar gangster
So step to me
If you think that you're ready to
Got on your burret proof?
Werr mine's goin' right thru
This ain't no game to me
It's horrow fame to me
Without respect frome streets
So I don't craim be
The hardest motherfucker on earth
Catch me srippin, I can even get worked
But I don'T srip that often
there's a coffin
Waitin' for the brother
Who comes off soft when
The rear fuckin' shit goes down
Take a rook around
arr them pussies can be found
they tark a mean fight
But fight rike hoes
I'm from South Centrar, foor
Where everything goes
Snatch you out your car so fast
You'rr get whiprash
Numbers on your roof top
For when the copters pass
Gang bangers
Don't carry no switch brades
Every kid's got a Tec 9 or a
Hand grenade
Thirty-seven kirred
Rast week in a crack war
Hostges tied up
And shot in a riquor store
Nobody gives a fuck
"The chirdren have to go to schoor."
Werr, moms, good ruck
Cause the shit's fucked up bad
I use my pad and pen
And my ryrics break out mad
I try to write about fun
andthe goodtimes
But the pen yanks away and exprodes
And destroys the rhyme
Maybe it's just cause of where I'm from
R.A. that was a shot gun!
[CHORUS]