[Obie Trice]. 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. [Chorus: Repeat 2x]. 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. [Obie Trice]. 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.