War GamesO.C.

O.C. ft. Organized Konfusion - “War Games”
[Emcee(s): O.C.]
[Producer(s): DJ Premier]
[Sample 1 (Vocal Stabs): Marva Whitney - “It’s My Thing” (0:08)]
[Sample 2 (Siren Alarm): Mantronix - “King of the Beats” (0:00)]
[Hook: Organized Konfusion (Pharoahe Monch & Prince Po)]

[Intro: Pharoahe Monch and O.C.]
Pharoahe Monch: War Games
O.C.: 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
No 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 (*Explosion*), 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
Emcees, 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)] (x2)
I declare
War Games
On niggas who flaunt figures for more fame, guerilla
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 and (O.C.)]
War Games (War Games), War Games (War Games), War Games!