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 Primo, 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, pushups 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 mo 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 you 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, para-
-noid, 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