Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Chillin (Like Matt Dillon), artist - Chords.
Date of issue: 31.12.2009
Song language: English
Chillin (Like Matt Dillon) |
I keep it custard, glued to the couch set |
I get my outlet fully outstretched |
I get my kicks snackin' on babyback ribs |
Chillin' in the gravymack crib |
Leave the runnin' to others, I’ll be calm here |
Laid back, robe on and the armchair |
And get a footrub, and some good love |
Just ease the self and eat ‘til I’m fill of |
That would be a nice stressless life |
With less phonecalls from pesterin' types |
And less restless nights, less tests in sight |
And more of what I like with all the extras, right? |
Chords: |
Chill like a pro with a veteran’s habit |
Like sucked the sedatives out the medicine cabinet |
I don’t like work, don’t like lifting fingers |
I swim in gravy like a chicken dinner |
And just chill, stay true to the word |
Body so relaxed it’s like I’m doing the worm |
And if there’s food in the house, I’m glued to the couch |
Spliff in my right hand, a brew in my mouth |
Elbows back, it’s a well-known fact |
That I’m stuck to the bed like a velcro strap |
Doing nothing, not tired at all |
But I ain’t getting up unless I hear the fire alarm |
(Chorus) Rantoboko: |
I like to chill, I like to have a lick fun |
We don’t bother nobody, we don’t have no big gun |
Me love to chill |
And I listen to me new wave |
I like to chill I like to have a lick fun |
We don’t carry no weapon mr policeman |
Can’t I just chill? |
Just listen to me new wave |
(Verse 2) Timbuktu: |
I love to chill, gotta chill to love |
I feel the drums and I build it up |
With my boys and a beer and a couple of birds |
Such as the world interfere you’re fucking disturbed |
Suckers and nerds always wanna ruin the fun |
Whether it’s MC’s or police persuin' Jason |
But any chance I get catch me kickin it to dancer chicks |
Taking sips, sucking on cancer sticks |
Chords: |
I’m so tasters I even sip my tang on the rocks |
All stretched out by the grandfather clock |
But don’t get me wrong I land on your block, hand on my crotch |
And put your whole camp on the spot |
All over some shit you said on the b-side |
Or dropped off the head in a freestyle |
But I’d rather keep to the side |
And cork up the tinto when the weekend arrives |
(Bridge) |
We’re straight lampin, maxin and relaxin |
Cold chillin' just kickin it back and |
Leveitatin, just based in |
Sautéenin, marinating |
(Verse 3) Chords: |
I don’t keep it a secret |
All I do is smoke weed with my people and sleep through the weekends |
Late night find Chords on his back |
4 in the morning watching war of the ants |
Timbuktu: |
Touring with Chance through northern Europe and France |
Forward advance, fillin up floors at the dance |
We don’t work, we get paid for R&R |
City to city, every day is like Mardi Gras |
Chords: |
Eatin Häagen Dazs is like a daily chore |
So if you wanna see me moving, dawg pay me more |
And if not, keep passing them trees |
And keep the voice down while I’m catching the z’s |
Timbuktu: |
Last but not least it’s all over after we leave |
With Chords at the wheel I max in the passenger seat |
Ah yeah, the whole car shake from the woofers |
It’s a chillfest so partake in the goodness |