"Nigga of the Century" as written by O'shea Jackson and Charly Charles....
Say you little son of a bitch what choo tryin' to be

When I'm big I want to be a thug
You want to be a thug huh (Yeah yeah)
What choo know (About) a thug huh (Yeah yeah)
You want to see the bad guy
Look at Ice Cube (Yeah yeah) that's the bad guy
You need people like him can point cha fingas
Huh? (Yeah yeah) the fuck you know about this shit
You ready to die, OK a-why
Where is that, you ready
'Cause they ain't touch the bad guy, OK

I'm the nigga of the century
Oh, so choo a bad guy, c'mon prove it
C'mon, you think you bad
How bad you are

I'm the nigga of the century
C'mon lets see how bad you are
C'mon bad guy, see'moawnl

We the worsest, all purpose
You want murderers
Well you serve us, hattin' motherfuckers with curb dust
You heard us, don't shit make us nervous
Not even when these fuckin' feds try to serve us
Mention me, when you write it in your history
As a nigger with the key to the mystery
Grand motta ain word don't mean shit to me
Who gives a fuck what they think, and what they see
Live how I got to live
Give what I got to give
Teach my kids positive, as well as the negative
Hope to raise better kids
The world needs a sedative, pray to god that we let him live

'Cause you bad guy, I'm the nigga of the century
The diamond scruff, all you niggas better mention me
Me that's who, it ain't no mystery
Goin' down in history, niggas better mention me

You better mention me, I'm the nigga of the century
Ok a-why, all you niggas better mention me
Me that's who, it ain't no mystery
Goin' down in history, niggas better mention me

A nigga told me to keep hope alive
Survive, and 95 I'll get you paradise
So I tried, nigga had to swallow his pride
But look into my eyes, I'm too wise to cook fries
Twelfth grade graduation, summer vacation
Mama said get the facin' on them applications
Didn't know back then, I was too young
Public school made me dumb as a motherfucker
What should I do in my life
Reverend price, do you got some advice
Before I roll the dice
A nigga don't want to shoot craps, 'cause it ain't all fun and games
When you tryin' to get that money mang
Gangbang, maintain or slang cane
T.V. got a nigga where he can't use his brain
What the fuck you talkin' bout, choose or loose
Bitch I don't know the motherfuckin' rules (For real)


Who am I when it's do or die
You can see a man's soul through the human eye
Can't spend all your lifetime gettin' high
'Cause you and I got to do, for you and I
Actin' wild as a juvenile
Now my whole life depends on the outcome of a trial
Wait-pow; these people ain't playin' now
Got to bring 85 percent of the time now
Fuck that, rather roll with the ruff pack
In the jet black, listenin' to ruff rap
See it's quite simple, you bitches ass niggas don't know
What I've been through, the weather's presidential
The warfare's mental, I sell my soul to the lord
For the perfect instrumental
And the number two pencil
And all the hustle found in chromosomes of my kinfolk


Yeah, OK, OK, ok, OK, call loko take it easy mang, choo got it
Choo leave it the fuckin' illest nigga to fuckin' shit you
Dess no problem withs that, gawn'na fuck dat
June have a fuckin' heart attack
It's over, everybody knows now
It's no fuckin' secret
Choo know dis motherfucker, OK a-why
It's over, that's it, die
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang

I got that bomb, bomb, tit-tit...
Tity-tit, tity-tity, tity, bomb, bomb, bomb...
When I hit you, uhh, uhh, uhh...

Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"Nigga of the Century" as written by O'shea Jackson Charly Charles

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, MISSING LINK MUSIC

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Nigga of the Century song meanings
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