O.G. STYLE

O.G. STYLE - 10 B 3 lyrics

Sittin in the county and I stake out

Lookin at the window thinkin should I break out

Honey Bun steps on the set

They call him Honey Bun but he's kinda hard, bet

And Vince is a madman

Crazy motherfucker with a gun in his right hand

The new house steps in for the new air

And Lala calls 'em to the square

He's a white boy so they wanna gank

I got a shank, motherfucker better think

10 B 3 is the location of the cell block

Where the deputies are happy when they clock out

The boss comes in and hollers, "Rec time"

I'm my own boss, I got my own mind

Little Robert is a kid that you shouldn't trust

Motherfucker tried him out bit the fuckin dust

The deputies ran to the cell block

The posse's in effect, so we bailed out

Made it to the elevator swiftly

Takin out the cameras was easy

Then jetted through the first door

Went to get some guns and we'd meet 'em on the sixth floor

The plan was to escape from this hell hole

They couldn't stop us, cause 10 B 3 was too cold

Shots were fired and a lot of people died

Fuck a trustee, nigga's on the other side

I knew a homie who's a sergeant

But the brother wore a badge and a gun so I dodged him

If we ever met face to face

I'd buck him down and I'd shoot him in his fuckin face

Cause this is a crew song

And if you ain't down with B 3 you gettin clicked on

Gary West was strapped with a gat

Shot a guard in his back as we ransacked

Headed for the first floor

The hard part, but we was ready for a real war

Yo man, that was the easy part, man

Gettin out that motherfuckin cell, man

But yo, we get out this elevator, man

We gotta start bustin ass

(Man, fuck them motherfuckers)

Here is the set and the action as it takes place

We on the first floor headed for the big chase

Over the loudspeaker they shouted red alert

The deputies were goin bezerk

Out of the elevators we crept out

Honey Bun and Vincent fired as we stepped out

A lady deputy spotted us and she yelled, "Stop"

I said yo, she turned her head and all you heard was pop

By now they knew we wasn't fakin

Blood over the floor, bodies layin there shakin

One of the homies got popped

It was police, I figured he was an undercover cop

I guess he knew he wouldn't take that

That's why he's layin on the floor, .45 bullet in his back

Lala made it to the computer room

A guard followed him, so that's where he met his doom

As he erased all the records of the cell block

The captain caught him so he turned and he shot

By now HPD was notified

But little did they know the outcome would be a homicide

Better yet a massacre, a disaster

10 B 3 comin atcha

Yo man, there is Boss in the van, man

And five-o right across the motherfuckin street

Man fuck that man

Yo man, let's just get to the hideout man, see where we go from there

Aight bet

Back in the city in the streets we dwell

It is better to be free than in a fuckin cell

They couldn't take us when they tried to

So if you ever heard the B 3 soft you bein lied to

Wait a minute before we step light

Vince, make the block and make sure that the escape's tight

There's nobody who can swallow us

Two blue suits lay in peace who tried to follow us

The posse's safe, we in our hideout

The mood is mellow, the noise has died out

Makin plans for the future to come

Money on our mind, Harold says, "Let's go get some"

Robert looks out the window

He yelled, "Jump out boys at the front door! "

It was time for the fun to end, or begin

Either way B 3 couldn't win

Kicked in the door and they yelled out, "Freeze! "

"Everybody on their motherfuckin knees! "

Honey Bun reached for the cop's gun

Now 10 B 3 is minus one

From out the backroom Harold shoots

Now a cop wears a red and a blue suit

Gun's empty and he flees from the scene

Shot from behind Harold dead at 17

Gary West and Vince broke out runnin

Out the backdoor, HPD gunnin

Layin in the backyard, blood and buckshots

Pushin up daisies cause they went the wrong route

Yo E, told 'em motherfuckers was comin the other way, man

Shit man

(10 B 3 comin atcha)

But yo, we can't sweat that, gee

So why don't we just call Scarface and get our dope

Aight

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