O.G. Original Gangster Lyrics
| Song | O.G. Original Gangster |
| Artist | Ice T |
| Album | O.G. Original Gangster |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Ten years ago | |
| I used to listen to rappers flow | |
| Talkin' bout the way | |
| They rocked the mic at the disco | |
| I liked how that shit was goin' down | |
| With my own sound | |
| So i tried to write rhymes | |
| Somethin' like them, my boys said, | |
| "that ain't you ice, | |
| That shit sounds like 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 would tell it how it relly was? | |
| Who dared? | |
| A motherfucker from the west coast | |
| L.a. south central fool | |
| Where the crips and the bloods play | |
| When i wrote about parties | |
| It didn't fit | |
| Six in the mornin' | |
| That was the real shit | |
| Chorus | |
| O.g. original gangster | |
| When i wrote about parties | |
| Someone always died | |
| When i tried to write happy | |
| Yo i knew i lied, i lived a life of crime | |
| Why play ya blind? | |
| A simple look | |
| And anyone with two cents | |
| Would know i'm | |
| A hardcore player fromhe streets | |
| Rappin' bout hardcore topics | |
| Over hardcore drum beats | |
| A little different | |
| Than the average though | |
| Jet you thru the fast lane | |
| Drop ya on death row | |
| Cause anybody who's been there | |
| Knows that life ain't sho lovely | |
| On the blood-soaked fast track | |
| That invincible shit don't work | |
| Throw ya in a joint | |
| You'll be comin' out feet first | |
| So i blst the mic with my style | |
| Sometimes i'm ill | |
| The other times buck wild | |
| But the science is always there | |
| I'd be a true sucker | |
| If i acted like i didn't care | |
| I rap for brothers just like myself | |
| Dazed by the game | |
| In a quest for extreme wealth | |
| But i kick it to you hard and real | |
| One wrong move, and you caps peeled | |
| I ain't no super hero | |
| I ain't no marvel comic | |
| But when it comes to game i'm atomic | |
| At droppin' it straight | |
| Point blank and untwisted | |
| No imagination needed, cause i lived it | |
| This ain't no fuckin' joke | |
| This shit is real 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 claimin'?" | |
| E drew the glock, yo my set's aimin'! | |
| Dumb motherfucker | |
| Try to roll on me, please! | |
| I'm protected by a thousand emcees | |
| And hoodlums and hustlers | |
| And bangers with jeri curls | |
| We won't even count the girls | |
| 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 original gangster | |
| So step to me | |
| If you think that you're ready to | |
| Got on your bullet proof? | |
| Well mine's goin' right thru | |
| This ain't no game to me | |
| It's hollow fame to me | |
| Without respect frome streets | |
| So i don't claim be | |
| The hardest motherfucker on earth | |
| Catch me slippin, i can even get worked | |
| But i don't slip that often | |
| There's a coffin | |
| Waitin' for the brother | |
| Who comes off soft when | |
| The real fuckin' shit goes down | |
| Take a look around | |
| All them pussies can be found | |
| They talk a mean fight | |
| But fight like hoes | |
| I'm from south central, fool | |
| Where everything goes | |
| Snatch you out your car so fast | |
| You'll get whiplash | |
| Numbers on your roof top | |
| For when the copters pass | |
| Gang bangers | |
| Don't carry no switch blades | |
| Every kid's got a tec 9 or a | |
| Hand grenade | |
| Thirty-seven killed | |
| Last week in a crack war | |
| Hostges tied up | |
| And shot in a liquor store | |
| Nobody gives a fuck | |
| "the children have to go to school." | |
| Well, moms, good luck | |
| Cause the shit's fucked up bad | |
| I use my pad and pen | |
| And my lyrics break out mad | |
| I try to write about fun | |
| Andthe goodtimes | |
| But the pen yanks away and explodes | |
| And destroys the rhyme | |
| Maybe it's just cause of where i'm from | |
| L.a. that was a shot gun! | |
| Chorus |
| Ten years ago | |
| I used to listen to rappers flow | |
| Talkin' bout the way | |
| They rocked the mic at the disco | |
| I liked how that shit was goin' down | |
| With my own sound | |
| So i tried to write rhymes | |
| Somethin' like them, my boys said, | |
| " that ain' t you ice, | |
| That shit sounds like 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 would tell it how it relly was? | |
| Who dared? | |
| A motherfucker from the west coast | |
| L. a. south central fool | |
| Where the crips and the bloods play | |
| When i wrote about parties | |
| It didn' t fit | |
| Six in the mornin' | |
| That was the real shit | |
| Chorus | |
| O. g. original gangster | |
| When i wrote about parties | |
| Someone always died | |
| When i tried to write happy | |
| Yo i knew i lied, i lived a life of crime | |
| Why play ya blind? | |
| A simple look | |
| And anyone with two cents | |
| Would know i' m | |
| A hardcore player fromhe streets | |
| Rappin' bout hardcore topics | |
| Over hardcore drum beats | |
| A little different | |
| Than the average though | |
| Jet you thru the fast lane | |
| Drop ya on death row | |
| Cause anybody who' s been there | |
| Knows that life ain' t sho lovely | |
| On the bloodsoaked fast track | |
| That invincible shit don' t work | |
| Throw ya in a joint | |
| You' ll be comin' out feet first | |
| So i blst the mic with my style | |
| Sometimes i' m ill | |
| The other times buck wild | |
| But the science is always there | |
| I' d be a true sucker | |
| If i acted like i didn' t care | |
| I rap for brothers just like myself | |
| Dazed by the game | |
| In a quest for extreme wealth | |
| But i kick it to you hard and real | |
| One wrong move, and you caps peeled | |
| I ain' t no super hero | |
| I ain' t no marvel comic | |
| But when it comes to game i' m atomic | |
| At droppin' it straight | |
| Point blank and untwisted | |
| No imagination needed, cause i lived it | |
| This ain' t no fuckin' joke | |
| This shit is real to me | |
| I' m icet | |
| 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 claimin'?" | |
| E drew the glock, yo my set' s aimin'! | |
| Dumb motherfucker | |
| Try to roll on me, please! | |
| I' m protected by a thousand emcees | |
| And hoodlums and hustlers | |
| And bangers with jeri curls | |
| We won' t even count the girls | |
| 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 everydaytype | |
| Prankster." | |
| I' m icet, the original gangster | |
| So step to me | |
| If you think that you' re ready to | |
| Got on your bullet proof? | |
| Well mine' s goin' right thru | |
| This ain' t no game to me | |
| It' s hollow fame to me | |
| Without respect frome streets | |
| So i don' t claim be | |
| The hardest motherfucker on earth | |
| Catch me slippin, i can even get worked | |
| But i don' t slip that often | |
| There' s a coffin | |
| Waitin' for the brother | |
| Who comes off soft when | |
| The real fuckin' shit goes down | |
| Take a look around | |
| All them pussies can be found | |
| They talk a mean fight | |
| But fight like hoes | |
| I' m from south central, fool | |
| Where everything goes | |
| Snatch you out your car so fast | |
| You' ll get whiplash | |
| Numbers on your roof top | |
| For when the copters pass | |
| Gang bangers | |
| Don' t carry no switch blades | |
| Every kid' s got a tec 9 or a | |
| Hand grenade | |
| Thirtyseven killed | |
| Last week in a crack war | |
| Hostges tied up | |
| And shot in a liquor store | |
| Nobody gives a fuck | |
| " the children have to go to school." | |
| Well, moms, good luck | |
| Cause the shit' s fucked up bad | |
| I use my pad and pen | |
| And my lyrics break out mad | |
| I try to write about fun | |
| Andthe goodtimes | |
| But the pen yanks away and explodes | |
| And destroys the rhyme | |
| Maybe it' s just cause of where i' m from | |
| L. a. that was a shot gun! | |
| Chorus |
| Ten years ago | |
| I used to listen to rappers flow | |
| Talkin' bout the way | |
| They rocked the mic at the disco | |
| I liked how that shit was goin' down | |
| With my own sound | |
| So i tried to write rhymes | |
| Somethin' like them, my boys said, | |
| " that ain' t you ice, | |
| That shit sounds like 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 would tell it how it relly was? | |
| Who dared? | |
| A motherfucker from the west coast | |
| L. a. south central fool | |
| Where the crips and the bloods play | |
| When i wrote about parties | |
| It didn' t fit | |
| Six in the mornin' | |
| That was the real shit | |
| Chorus | |
| O. g. original gangster | |
| When i wrote about parties | |
| Someone always died | |
| When i tried to write happy | |
| Yo i knew i lied, i lived a life of crime | |
| Why play ya blind? | |
| A simple look | |
| And anyone with two cents | |
| Would know i' m | |
| A hardcore player fromhe streets | |
| Rappin' bout hardcore topics | |
| Over hardcore drum beats | |
| A little different | |
| Than the average though | |
| Jet you thru the fast lane | |
| Drop ya on death row | |
| Cause anybody who' s been there | |
| Knows that life ain' t sho lovely | |
| On the bloodsoaked fast track | |
| That invincible shit don' t work | |
| Throw ya in a joint | |
| You' ll be comin' out feet first | |
| So i blst the mic with my style | |
| Sometimes i' m ill | |
| The other times buck wild | |
| But the science is always there | |
| I' d be a true sucker | |
| If i acted like i didn' t care | |
| I rap for brothers just like myself | |
| Dazed by the game | |
| In a quest for extreme wealth | |
| But i kick it to you hard and real | |
| One wrong move, and you caps peeled | |
| I ain' t no super hero | |
| I ain' t no marvel comic | |
| But when it comes to game i' m atomic | |
| At droppin' it straight | |
| Point blank and untwisted | |
| No imagination needed, cause i lived it | |
| This ain' t no fuckin' joke | |
| This shit is real to me | |
| I' m icet | |
| 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 claimin'?" | |
| E drew the glock, yo my set' s aimin'! | |
| Dumb motherfucker | |
| Try to roll on me, please! | |
| I' m protected by a thousand emcees | |
| And hoodlums and hustlers | |
| And bangers with jeri curls | |
| We won' t even count the girls | |
| 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 everydaytype | |
| Prankster." | |
| I' m icet, the original gangster | |
| So step to me | |
| If you think that you' re ready to | |
| Got on your bullet proof? | |
| Well mine' s goin' right thru | |
| This ain' t no game to me | |
| It' s hollow fame to me | |
| Without respect frome streets | |
| So i don' t claim be | |
| The hardest motherfucker on earth | |
| Catch me slippin, i can even get worked | |
| But i don' t slip that often | |
| There' s a coffin | |
| Waitin' for the brother | |
| Who comes off soft when | |
| The real fuckin' shit goes down | |
| Take a look around | |
| All them pussies can be found | |
| They talk a mean fight | |
| But fight like hoes | |
| I' m from south central, fool | |
| Where everything goes | |
| Snatch you out your car so fast | |
| You' ll get whiplash | |
| Numbers on your roof top | |
| For when the copters pass | |
| Gang bangers | |
| Don' t carry no switch blades | |
| Every kid' s got a tec 9 or a | |
| Hand grenade | |
| Thirtyseven killed | |
| Last week in a crack war | |
| Hostges tied up | |
| And shot in a liquor store | |
| Nobody gives a fuck | |
| " the children have to go to school." | |
| Well, moms, good luck | |
| Cause the shit' s fucked up bad | |
| I use my pad and pen | |
| And my lyrics break out mad | |
| I try to write about fun | |
| Andthe goodtimes | |
| But the pen yanks away and explodes | |
| And destroys the rhyme | |
| Maybe it' s just cause of where i' m from | |
| L. a. that was a shot gun! | |
| Chorus |
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