Oh Lord (Freestyle) lyrics

Primo...
(Laughs)
Bars professor...
Pete Rock, to The RZA...
To Prince Paul...
So many more...
I owe all you brothers...
For, I have mastered the art...
Of the chop...

I'm worldwide, anything else is silly, but don't get it twisted, I rep the Philly. Lock any block I stop, now really if I don't kill the cops, the cops'll kill me. 'Cause they ain't never protect & served, they got the nerve, thinkin' it's respect they deserve. Pay your fare, n*gga or you're done. Don't you understand? I got a hair trigger on my gun. And, I don't pull the fifth to flash, this ain't a robbery, I don't want none of your cash. You got rare beef? You should save it. Don't make me put your brains on the muthaf*ckin' pavement. You better know yourself, my lyrical di*k is too big, for I could blow myself, and that's called audio-fellatio, incase you didn't know...Freestyle!
You better wake the f*ck up, soon. Muthaf*ckas don't? You gonna see my logo on the moon. All I need's five words, I'm not losin', you've been tricked, muthaf*cka stop snoozin'. Lets be realistic. You got questions? I'm Radio-Shack, you a f*ck-stick. Just in case you missed it, I'm the livest n*gga you heard, don't get it twisted...
f*ck a New World Order, I'ma brag on this mic 'bout some suckas that I left slaughtered. And, that goes way against omerta, I ain't even mean to strike, or even hurt 'ya. Murder's not my forte, though I do make it effortless, sorry I left you breath-a-less. Pick up the receiver, I'll make you a believer, old fashioned n*gga, "Leave It To Beaver." You know I hate complainin' to you, "Lucy, you gotta lotta explainin' to do." b*tch, way back in the days, now you understand why I call myself Payze...Duez. Yes, you know I sing the song, every muthaf*ckin' single thing I do is wrong. But, I could clear your throat like Halls, you could suck my muthaf*ckin' balls...