"My M.O.B feat. Wrecka" genre: Hip Hop
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	CD: SWOLLA! The Sex, Money, Murdalation. vol.1   Label: Ebonasty Recordings Credits: Executive Producer: Nasty Montana / Production: Big O & Wrecka/ Publishing: D'Animal George Steele Publishing
	Lyrics VERSE 1. Down in the dirty south/ Yo I learn what them ole dirty birds about. At the age of thirteen them birds learned about/ See they act all wild when the worm is out. Fuck em till they get sweaty and their perm is out/ Heard Wrecka was a little cat from word of mouth. Till I laid down the pipe and you squirming now/ Pussy thrown in my face I should turn it down. It ain’t my fault she gave it up you hurting now/ She was your only source of pussy and you jerking now. Shit you slept on me, you preferred the gal/ She recognize a real nigga You a herb and now. See me in the streets you all about murders now/ Approach me and get shot/ When you see me and my click with the burners out. And bullets is the only thing we serving out/ When all out for a bitch don’t be nervous now. CHORUS 2x Till the day I D.I.E. My M.O. be, M.O.B. Got to get the doe Money over hoes VERSE 2. Yo these hoes is too quick to say L.O.V.E./ That’s why my M.O. be M.O.B. And I use that to my advantage/ Cause baby girl I couldn’t trick if I planned it. And if my fame got check, so feen your bleeding/ Buy a bandage/ Cause I only rock the gear that sunk the titanic. And that shit ain’t cheap so why should I stand it/ Want a nigga to trick, then try that silly rabbit. Cause I cant really have it, stressing hoes/ That want me to lick and trick and buy X and O’s. Want me to rip the clit, exchange sex for doe/ Get in beef and expect me to protect them so. I just laugh at them bitches and direct them home/ Cause what Wrecka says is real, and X your sown. I don’t worry about shit, unless it’s doe/ Unless it hoes, that give blows, unless its shows. CHORUS 2x Till the day I D.I.E. My M.O. be, M.O.B. Got to get the doe Money over hoes VERSE 3. Half your chicks be out for the cash and jewels/ The only reason you be gaffle dudes to get in their stash for shoes. Especially it’s prada bag or two/ Them gold diggers do what they have to do, nagging you. Constantly harassing you/ For chips to shop down Fifth Avenue. Early in the morn spent by the afternoon/ Run and tell the other gold digging chickens how you tricking they laugh at you. That’s why I let them know from the get go/ I’m M.O.B life shorty, you ain’t gone It. Why you think bout the ice shorty/ I’m thinking bout the price shorty/ You ain’t worth it/ Even though you’re looking nice shorty. CHORUS 2x Till the day I D.I.E. My M.O. be, M.O.B. Got to get the doe Money over hoes

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