Yo, Obie Trice, yo
I'm with backdoor productions, no discussion,
O Trice be the sound that's rushin your eardrums
Pump it up if you feeling em, this is hip hop pure adrenaline
I'm a winner, I step on the scene
Start to cipher, bitches start to scream
Cock back, niggas start to flee
Ain't nobody in this motherfucker with me
I'm a dog, I walk what I talk
Detroit niggas see straight through your heart
Niggas wanna bark, niggas get traced in chalk 
By the law in the adam car with this rap I be at em all
I spit through the mic and niggas just scatter off
The boss before that bitch rap that, these bitch made 
Niggas get their shit pushed the fuck back


You know O Trice spit the hot shit that's the realest
Keep lacing dope tracks that's the illest
Hot joints for my raw ass niggas
That make motherfuckers go yo


Motherfuckers ain't trying to see Mr. Trice
Yo I pump up the party, pump nut up in ya wife
Me and you, two different types
You wanna be hardcore while my shit's precise
I recite make niggas wanna blast on any punk ass nigga in sight
My focus, to take niggas minds over
Somebody's murdered once my rhyme's over
I do this the regular way
A regular cat with an irregular verbal spray
You know my thoughts deep when it runs
A weirdo sleeping with mad guns
Who want some, you can have it, semi-automatic catch the trace around
You be lost and found
Chalked up with Obie Trice branded on ya ass nigga what