O​.​B. - The Coalition

by O.B.

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The following is a collection of tracks lead by M.O.B.Star artist O.B., featuring some of the hottest musical talents across the country. Spanning across a number of years (2009-2012), O.B. severs tracks from clandestine projects he has worked on, and combines them with a few new songs to give listeners insight into his own personal growth and progression, and to set the bar for how independent hip-hop can sound. Whether you are a hardcore hip-hop supremacist of the old school, or the casual listener accustomed to the stylings of the new school, The Coalition is sure not to disappoint. - #MOBLife


released March 20, 2013

Production: Johnny Juliano, Kajmir Royale, Arkutec, Nu Vintage, NiceGuyBeats, Skate Bravo, RaCharm

Engineering: Mixed & Mastered by DeWun Music

Executive Production: Culture Kev

Recorded at M.O.B.Star Studios



all rights reserved


M.O.B.Stars Paterson, New Jersey

Hot music with a small fries 24/7. #MOBLife

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Track Name: Cosmic Cruise (w. MizloonaR & SaFE Prod. By Nu Vintage)
Verse 1 (Mizloonar)
Subliminally I navigate/
core pusses and jaw muscles I aggravate/
my intoxicated colloquialisms are like graffiti/
earth’s equilibrium I agitate/
astral project and the comets are quantum/
snort moon dust and proceed to throw tantrums/
soul sacred, ideas I innovate with/
scientists perplexed because they can’t simulate it/
collages, isotopes raining in barrages/
chiropractic, the most spiritual massages/
game over, all terrain like range rovers/
my free time spent giving nicknames to novas/
an immigrant, origin unknown/
innocence lost, that’s the cost for the tastes of sin’s imminence/
I stand alone immerse in sun showers/
rapists disintegrate, stench of gunpowder/
I release smoke from the dutch in the air/
and introduce ya brain to the left hemispheres/
deafening, zeppelin hover like halos/
got concubines trying to get on my payroll/
if the spotlight not right, I adjust it/
microphone combusted, when I touched it/
pride in my soul I had to fight to surrender it/
as a boy I dreamed, as a man I remembered it/
each breath I takes a blessing/
and impregnate your thoughts till they needed a cesarean section/
I, sip on the Henny while I pimp like Benny/
Blanco, from the Bronx, I’m finessing your consciousness/
more the merrier, in ya area/
to simultaneously entertain and break sound barriers/
abilities embedded in genetics/
inflate my interest rate from overdue street credit/

Verse 2 (SaFE)
Grand levitation creation is with the golden harp/
survived generations lead to back taxes from the loaning sharks/
from the start the chosen hopeless, hoping to opus charts/
so for leading the young ill eventually float to stars/
closest star from the finish diminish/
the remembrance and the reverence, of the black Rembrandt/
who led the slashed head chant, inverting successes plans/
my successes know where the treasures’ stamped/
on the map of zion find where ya self would stand/
in the perfect picture so nurtured my verses scripture/
so nervous devoid of purpose is what they saying when the serpent’ll get ya/
yeah, spreaded wings lifted off the corrosion of my essence singing sweet pslams/
celebrate the triumph of this blessed rhythm/
glowing energy that’s unfathomable to astrophysicists/
Sayin light flow from the tyranny, I’m delivering my people/
tear the temple walls, leave nothing but the steeple/
for respect for the oratory pioneers this what we do/
they say hip-hop was set out inside the park/
but it was commonplace telepathy how Egyptians and Mayans talked/
you just another brick, but I’m a fly on the wall/
so while you hustle another brick, I’m applying the thought/
my pen’s a hypodermic needle, this is science of course/
divinest of forces I’m ahead of my time, your timing is off/
I spit Sherum beams, from the scepters to heal the skin off the monstrous lepers/
not of god body/
but, the reverence of a prophet in the toppling of monotonous/
commonest musical compositions of waking consciousness/
duty’s like a beautiful burden, teach it in school for the learning/
I teach something like a gratuitous merchant/
now I could be a martyr but that wouldn’t clear any doubts/
how long can prophets falsely cry till you can’t hear any shouts?

Verse 3 (O.B.)
My words are translucent yet lucid, foolish and clever/
aimed to sever and loosen, thoughts of desperation that prove nooses/
but worn proudly like tunics, humble, invent none, just fine tuning/
taking the established and make improvements/
and this the mind movement like, organized telepathy/
balance the other side of the scale with two whales, then try to measure me/
worldly my heart wants naught/
guided by my virility to learn the ability to unlearn thought/
cutting off nerve endings to sterilize pain and extend blessings/
hang gliding through Freudian projections of past regressions/
an essence so precious, morphs the paper/
fathom a land where transgressions aren’t in man’s intuitive nature/
bathe in secretions of promise to come off extra clean/
women impressed with me, with the part, that’s part Nephilim/
made emotional hostage by a bondage that’s serpentine/
earthly actions cause reactions that’s all surfacing/
chartered my own triangular course with previous penmanship/
offended with, men with inclinations to the effeminate/
haunted by past women because I had to be more than a friend to them/
and wasted children screaming out, remember them/
in the rapture of self loathing and self centering, like self sentencing/
thought it was needed to feel myself win again/
beside myself, I find myself kneeling before the most infinite/
like if you could make me whole I promise to never pretend again/
past self stroking leaves the present impotent a friend to men/
my illumination invigorates the dim in them/
clutching hope like pants with a thousand hems in them/
sympathize with simpletons, no matter how I advance I’m still primitive/
mental forearms strong enough to rip the nooses off/
no longer forcing the inevitable like Rohypnol/
nah, im just dealing with the realer real/
nursing on the present day like Infamil/
that’s real rap/