Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Oh My God’ by A Tribe Called Quest. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of A Tribe Called Quest or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.
Oh My God
Listen up everybody the bottom line
I’m a black intellect, but unrefined
With precision like a bullet, target bound
Just living like a hooker, the harlett sounds
Now when I say the harlett, you know I mean the hot
Heat in the equator, the brothers in the pot
Jalick, Jalick ya wind up ya hip
Draftin of the poets, I’m the number seven pick
Licks, licks, licks boy on your backside
Licks, licks, licks boy on your backside
Listen to the fader, Shaheed lets it glide
Tip the earthly body
Heaven’s on my side
Even in Santo Domingo
Can I gotta Gringo
Yo, we got mics, when do we go?
Know a little nigga who can ryhme when you ask me
Short, dark, and plus his voice is raspy
1 for the treble, 2 for the bass
You know the style Tip, now watch me rip this
I like my beats harder than two day old shit
Steady eating booty MC’s like cheese grits
My man Al B. Sure, he’s in effect mode
Used to have a crush on Dawn from En Vogue
It’s not like honey dip would want to get with me
But just in case I own more condoms than TLC
Now the formula is this, me, Tip, and Ali
For those who can’t count it goes 1-2-3
The answer, big up is how I be
Brothers find it’s hard to do, but never me
Some brothers try to dis Malik
You see’m catchin me
Don’t worry about them booty MCs, my shit be hittin
Training gladiator, anti-hesitator
Shaheed push the fader from here to Granada
Mister energetic
Who me, sound pathetic?
When’s the last time you heard a funky diabetic?
I don’t know man
I don’t know
Oh My God
Complimentary it be
The thief of Poetry
I got a humdinger coming hook, line and sinker
The Timbo hits with the prints underground
Timbo’s on the toes, I like the way it’s going down
Down like the lady of the evening
When it goes in hun just believe the sin
Cause Queens is the county, Jamaica is the place
(Take off your boots ’cause you can’t run the race)
See, this is how we do when we keep it on and on
Do what
Got my man Big Mo with the streets and the papes
My man Big Mo with the streets and caprice
This is how we do when we keep the wilding sheets
Cause we got to do it like this, we aim to please
See ya next LP and next CD and next cassette
Yo, we about to jet
We A Tribe Called Quest and we the Midnight Marauders
Tribe Called Quest and we the Midnight Marauders
See ya next time cause we the Midnight Marauders
A yo, we out cause we the Midnight Marauders
Go to the record store and get the shit
We work hard
We A Tribe Called Quest and we the Midnight Marauders
Queens got it’s own and Brooklyn got it’s own
Like that