Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Dippin In Da Lac , by - Big TuckRelease date: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Dippin In Da Lac |
| Ay what’s up mayn, this your boy Big Tuck |
| Ad-Tuck-Hitler, Hurricane Tuck and Paul Wall |
| This what I want my dope boys to do |
| I know we got a lot of dope boys out there |
| Everybody know we got money down here |
| We gon put the new shit up, and we gon jump in a old school 'Lac |
| And we gon dip on these hoes, g’eah-g'eah |
| I swear, I’m the freshest nigga moving |
| GT roof down, cruisin' (cruisin') |
| Gucci loc’s on, peeping bitches choosing |
| Tipsy on the dance floor, grooving |
| Seeing niggas hating, cause I’m shining |
| Got money in my pockets, I don’t mind em (I'm rich nigga) |
| Yeah nigga, peep this watch |
| Peep this chain, my shine don’t stop |
| I’m dope man fresh |
| The J’s on point, heavy crease the Guess |
| The chain on the chest, hoes obsessed |
| They finally get to meet the Big Tuck in the flesh |
| She’s watching, I know that I got her |
| Three karat studs in the ear, she know I’m a rider |
| And it’s just like that |
| The Benz in the garage, I’m bout to jump in the 'Lac |
| Dipping in the Lac, with the do’s rose up |
| Ho-hoes froze up, cause the do’s rose up |
| Ho-ho-hopping out the Lac, and the chain froze up |
| Rose gold up, rose-rose gold up |
| Pull up to the club, bout twelve cars deep |
| All dripping candy paint, with some glassy ass feet |
| I keep the trunk waving, and that dro stay blazing |
| With the nine tucked tightly, at them haters misbehaving |
| I’m a hard hitter like Greg Blue, setting trends and squashing noise |
| Pulling up in some candy toys, strutting the parking lot with poise |
| You see them karats on my wrist, and all around my neck |
| With nothing less than flawless diamonds mayne, what you expect |
| I got a lot of charms, I got a lot of chains |
| I got a lot of grills, and nan one of em look the same |
| Swang and bang in my candy car, boppers wanna know who we are |
| Street veterans and mic wreckers, we certified young ghetto stars |
| Popping bottles that’s just for fun, popping trunk that’s in my blood |
| Candy paint might cause a flood, please don’t spill my cup of mud |
| You know we stay balling, cause we keep grinding for that bread |
| Swishahouse it’s Paul Wall, and I’m G-Boy fresh until I’m dead |
| I’m dope man fresh, dope man fresh |
| Chain on the chest stayin' dope man fresh |
| Dope man fresh, dope man fresh |
| Hopping out the Lac, staying dope man fresh — 2x |
| I’m a certified, wood gripper |
| I’m a old school, candy paint Lac flipper |
| Got the bang on, and the screens lit |
| Got the dro going, satellite kit |
| What you know, about the mink guts |
| And the motor, that’ll drag race a school bus |
| Just, got the paint job touched up |
| On the freeway, riding with them do’s up |