War Games

[Intro: Pharoahe Monch & O.C.] War Games War Games Uh, yeah, uh, uh, uh, what? Crooklyn Dodger Number 2, O.C Yeah, back on the scene, motherfuckers Me and Preemo, you know? East New York, Bushwick Bed-Stuy, and all those good places Yo [Verse 1: O.C.] My main frame disciplined like a soldier Ready for war, push-ups get my chest swole up What’s the deal, Preem? I mean the scheme I think I got it locked in, nigga, War Games is the theme Rap commando, what’s my handle? O.C. ample to rock shit, battle niggas who pop shit Green beret, thoughts slicker I’m one step ahead – slide through enemy lines like a black Ac’ Vigor, Camouflage, running through your zone with no detection ‘Cause the dark-skinned marksman run through your section Flesh and bones, physical built like titanium Garbs cover my grill like Iranians Ill gorilla, so-called killers I fear no man but Allah, for the guidance he instill in us The Renaissance Man, I blow up like grenades Sharp like GemStars, cause massive scars O.C.’s all in it, dope I’ve been for years Now I’m back on the scene, and I declare War Games [Verse 2: O.C.] I bust off like an M-16, ripping through spleens From head to toe, blood soak up your jeans Rap veteran, earned my stripes, fought wars Opposing forces, would O.C. take losses? Nauseous, you’re feeling kind of like throwing up Cautious, watch your step, land rhymes blowing up Having no pity for foes – fuck G.I. Joe, he’s a sucker Slap the taste out of wild motherfuckers Design a rhyme like a plan for the government Six Million like Steve Austin, costing Apprehended? If I am, enzymes in my body will erupt M-16 Type of cadence, voice filled with ammo Bust off into a crowd of bitch niggas, sing soprano When I get you in the square, then I end your career All MCs, let’s make one thing clear: You’re all the same, I will remain, fuck the fame Feeling the lane to shoot, I declare War Games [Hook: Organized Konfusion (Pharoahe Monch & Prince Po)] I declare War Games On niggas who flaunt figures for more fame Guerrilla warfare tactics issued, unlimited access to ammo With fireproof camouflage apparel I declare (I declare) War Games On niggas who flaunt figures for more fame Guerrilla warfare tactics issued, unlimited access to ammo With fireproof camouflage apparel [Verse 3: O.C.] Precise, pinpoint it, pull it, when I cock back This here rap will slap you and your team And that bad bitch, sneeze from my uncut raw like coke Preem, take a pause, roll up your smoke Then toke it, back to B.I., See, I can do this, I’m professional Too much weight to weigh any scale Dutch Master Superior blend, inhale me right Young Phillies, take a toke of my rap and get the willies – paranoid Niggas are now void Fuck with O.C., get your life destroyed Like a Marine, I’m a trained rap-killing machine Fiend to rock a mic set from New York to New Orleans Overseas, I conquer, rough like Blanka Love to eat actors, got a taste for drama When I flow, I get comatose in my own world From the first verse, you saw my plan unfurl I maintain same name, never change My M.O. is to demo’ competition on the mic War Games [Outro: Pharoahe Monch & O.C.] War Games War Games War Games War Games War Games