| I keep it custard, glued to the couch set
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| I get my outlet fully outstretched
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| I get my kicks snackin' on babyback ribs
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| Chillin' in the gravymack crib
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| Leave the runnin' to others, I’ll be calm here
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| Laid back, robe on and the armchair
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| And get a footrub, and some good love
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| Just ease the self and eat ‘til I’m fill of
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| That would be a nice stressless life
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| With less phonecalls from pesterin' types
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| And less restless nights, less tests in sight
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| And more of what I like with all the extras, right?
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| Chords:
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| Chill like a pro with a veteran’s habit
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| Like sucked the sedatives out the medicine cabinet
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| I don’t like work, don’t like lifting fingers
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| I swim in gravy like a chicken dinner
|
| And just chill, stay true to the word
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| Body so relaxed it’s like I’m doing the worm
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| And if there’s food in the house, I’m glued to the couch
|
| Spliff in my right hand, a brew in my mouth
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| Elbows back, it’s a well-known fact
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| That I’m stuck to the bed like a velcro strap
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| Doing nothing, not tired at all
|
| But I ain’t getting up unless I hear the fire alarm
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| (Chorus) Rantoboko:
|
| I like to chill, I like to have a lick fun
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| We don’t bother nobody, we don’t have no big gun
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| Me love to chill
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| And I listen to me new wave
|
| I like to chill I like to have a lick fun
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| We don’t carry no weapon mr policeman
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| 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 |