We use cookies to customize content and advertising, to provide social media features, and to analyze traffic to our site. We also share information about your use of our site with our trusted social media, advertising and analytics partners. Read more.
  •    
  •    
  •    

    Mobb Deep / Lyrics

    Playlist 0 Rate 0 Like & Share Print Email Play

    "G.O.D., Pt. III" Lyrics

    Mobb Deep

    Album:
    Genre:
    Duration:00:03:28
    Rank: (−) history »
    Rate:
    −/5 from 0 users
    Charts: view all »
    Referring urls:view all »

    Video

    Lyrics

    Some of that 151 son (yeah some of that bogus)
    (What you got in the trunk?)
    Aight, aiyyo son, yo yo
    You think that motherfuckin nigga's out there right now son?
    (Word, what he doin out here?)
    Son we got drama with that nigga
    Be tryin to fuckin front last week
    (What, that kid out there?
    Yo, I seen that nigga earlier know what I'm sayin')
    Nah fuck that, go, go open the window real quick son
    Open that fuckin window
    (You gonna take him from the window nigga)?

    Yo hold up
    That, there go, that's that nigga right there son?
    Right next to the basketball court?
    (Yeah yeah, that's the one)
    Oh shit! C'mere c'mere c'mere c'mere, turn the lights out
    (I got somethin too son, that's how we do)
    Turn the lights out, c'mon through
    (Back up, back up, they lookin)
    Aiyyo Son, I'ma hit that nigga right now son
    Word to mom I'ma hit him out the window son
    (Yo you buggin' son)

    Heh nah chillzo, fuck that
    I'ma hit that nigga right out the motherfuckin window
    (Ga head son, go head man)
    Hold up (you want somebody go bust him)
    Nah fuck that I'ma hit this nigga out the window son
    (Ga head man)
    Shit shit shit don't blow it up, duck down
    (Yo let me do it man, let me do it, go head)
    Two shots, eighteen shots, seven shots
    Yeah yeah yeah, yeah nigga, yeah
    Yeah, (gimme gimme gimme gimme)
    Fucker (what)

    (Yo it's the) G.O.D. Father Point Three
    QBC, sip lime Bacardi
    Heavy on the wrist, cube link, my ice ring
    Drama we bring, yeah, yo that's a small thing

    (Yo it's the) G.O.D. Father Point Three
    QBC, sip lime Bacardi
    Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
    Drama we bring, yeah, yo that's a small thing

    Alright now, pay attention to the crime rhyme Houdini P
    Keepin you niggaz in perspective
    Mobb, representative, call me the specialist
    Professional, professor at this rap science
    Up in the labratory, here's why your small rhyme bore me
    Store bought rap ain't shit, my category
    Is that of an insane who strike back (what?)
    I draw first blood, it's over with, and that's that
    You wanna square off, forsake and slice that cat
    You get splashed, from back of your head, to ass crack
    Surgical signs to the end, with iron map
    Which bring, apocalypse to this game called rap

    Not a game but quite serious and yo in fact
    You'll be runnin for dear life so far you might fall off the map
    Fuckin with P, you need a gat
    At least to have the opportunity to bust back
    First shot the motherfucker pack around world premier
    Shook individual bound from blind fear
    Scared to death niggaz fall to they worst fear
    Horror tales in braille, for vision impaired
    You lookin for P, well you can find him everywhere
    In a project near you, I'll be right there
    I was brought up and taught to have no fear (now)
    Live wire niggaz stay behind me in the rear (now)
    Cowardly hearts, step aside, stand clear (fear)
    My bloodthirsty niggaz got they eyes on you
    QBC, lime Bacardia, G.O.D. Father Point Three
    On some hashish, to Embassy Suite, crash your party

    (Yo it's the) G.O.D. Father Point Three
    QBC, sip lime Bacardi
    Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
    Drama we bring, yeah, yo that's a small thing

    Yeah yo, lime Bacardi, gettin bent, crash the party
    Handle B-I, bringing it to anybody
    Physical damage, crowd control handle cannons
    Hittin you ripped, leave your bloodstream contamined
    While you actin out of character, we observin
    Drillin em down so hard, I know we felt you comin at em
    Hennessee raps float like the Phantom
    Runnin you up out of the spot in which you standin
    Never second guess a cat who hold gat
    Concealed, but easily revealed and fast
    Body castin raps to get your back snapped in half
    And severed, impossible pain beyond measure

    Sheisty living brought him to his last bread (bread)
    Life changed around quick to one stead (stead)
    Face full of fear, conquerin your ice grill (grill)
    Tragedies, put him to sleep like NyQuil (NyQuil)
    Givin a overdose of this rap potent
    Potentially dangerous, fatally left open
    For the roaches, scavengers, that's EMS
    Funeral homes, anticipatin your death
    That's the dead truth, check in the morgue, you'll find proof
    Enough to make you think and stop before your ship sink
    To the bottom, night owl leave the mark and spot him
    You know the routine, face up before I shot him

    (Yo it's the) G.O.D. Father Point Three
    QBC, sip lime Bacardi
    Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
    Drama we bring, yeah, yo that's a small thing

    (Yo it's the) G.O.D. Father Point Three
    QBC, sip lime Bacardi
    Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
    Drama we bring, yeah, yo that's a small thing
    This song was submitted on July 22nd, 2015 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Giorgio Moroder.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

    Songs you may also like

    Contributors

    leaderboard activity

    Comments

    Facebook (0) LetsSingIt (0)