O.C.D

​(Verse 1: The Standard)

Look, I’m good off the sloppy, I ain't feeling the spill

I need that Calculated motion, that specialized skill

Most these chicks just gagging, tryna play the part

But I need that Technical, that's a different art

They think throwing up is motion, nah, that’s just a lie

I’m looking for the Elite, the ones that’s qualified

Don't just hold your lips and slide, that’s some amateur play

I need that Surgical grip, doing work the West Coast way.

​(Chorus: The Philosophy)

It’s about the technique and the finesse, rather than the mess

Trading in the sloppy for the Mastery, I must confess

Keep it Polished, keep it tight, leave the chaos at the door

I need that Doctorate level, then I’m coming back for more

Yeah, that Calculated touch, that Surgical flow

If it ain't Elite, baby, you already know.

​(Verse 2: The Lesson)

Stop trying to rush the job, just enjoy the work

Before Daddy takes over and makes that throat hurt

Real ones know how to take it, how to throw it and hold

Move it with precision, yeah, that's solid gold

We like the spit, let it drip, we don't care about the juice

But that throwing up? Man, that’s just an excuse

Don't be making my bed nasty, keep the audio clean

Straight Bob on the Cob, know what I mean?

Learn how to swallow on the knob, don't be acting brand new

If you ain't a specialist, then I'm through with you.

​(Outro)

Yeah...

No throw up, no stress.

Just that OCD dome, nothing less.

Trade the messy for the Mastery.

Keep it Technical.

We out