OPG Theme lyrics

[Verse 1: Reef The Lost Cauze]
We puff cigars and sip Jesus juice
Do get dough I don’t need a booth long as crack smokes and needle shoots
Yup, unbelievable, a lethal crew where evil rules
I be in Cali smoking diesel, you never leave the room
You in your crib just clickety clacking
Typing messages about how n*ggas be rapping
Like he used to spit fire like really what happened?
You really need cabbage cause you’re simply a faggot c*cksucker
While your jaw’s tight, eh yo I’m sick
I got a wild b*tch who strangled you to death like Arturo’s wife
Rest in peace to all of those who died tragically
Steve McNair got a n*gga scared to eat at Applebee’s
I mean Dave & Buster’s and I don’t give a f*ck about my own life
So it’s nothing for me to take another’s (nothing)
The b*tch is a freak, she said take a number
We ran trizznain, that b*tch say take a number

[Verse 2: Burke The Jurke]
Hey yo I weigh about a deuce and a half
And manoeuvre too fast for you losers to grasp
You’re not eluding my wrath
Grab the duffel bag and shoot, the loot and the cash
I subtract you from your stash and now you do the math
I sit on the church steps with the booze in a flask
I love the sound of the music from a funeral man
Want me to google your producer man, you dude should just ask
I see through you like glass and my goons just laugh
Take a swig of the Grey Goose, take a trip to Jesus
Get your gay troops, turn your strip to Beirut
This is fight music, I ain’t ? the comrade
This is combat, give your sister her son back
I’m repping OPG, you got OCD
Your sh*t is one dimensional, my flow’s 3D
They they say that I’m as gritty as ODB
Dirk McGurk but they call me Burke the Jurke
[Verse 3: Vinnie Paz]
Pazienza and Lost Cauze drunken with the four-fours
I just mangled the f*cking mic pus*y, it’s all yours
I don’t need to spit sixteens, you done in four bars
Fat motherf*cker, I only eat it if it’s four stars
When you knocked out cold it’s hard to fight back
Street pharmacist with more pills than Mike Jack
I don’t wanna listen to y’all, y’all sh*t is tight whack
I been eating rappers for years, you just a light snack
Eh yo Sharif burn these motherf*ckers at the stake
They ain’t gonna get a chance to learn from their mistake
Death is coming for you motherf*ckers, save the day
Everything I spit is equivalent to a Mason’s hate
This is Pazienza, the Official Pistol Gang
And we was born and bred in Killadelphia, Pistolvane
The thirty-eight, a four-five, see every pistol bang
They can levitate your body and they can rip through brains