Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song 40 Oz & Chronic Dice (feat. Brotha Lynch Hung, Foe Loco) , by - Mr. DoctorRelease date: 31.12.2004
Song language: English
40 Oz & Chronic Dice (feat. Brotha Lynch Hung, Foe Loco) |
| Finally the sun went down in the hood and I was budded |
| Dice game and fat sacks a indo |
| Service with high times and made it |
| Rainy days blew me away, so I drank the 4 everyday |
| Matter fact it was a murder present |
| One-eight-six point duece that was ridin wit one-eighty-seven |
| (40 ounces and chronice dice) |
| Yeah, I stay high muthafucka |
| On my briefcase is some crumbled weed |
| Buckshot shells from a dead body |
| Got a whole bunch a 40's and a couple a hoes |
| A '95 Fifty sittin on Trues and Vogues |
| Plus I had a nine in my glove compartment |
| 'Cause everywhere I go niggas love to start shit |
| Five pound chronic dice, in my mits |
| Fifteen teflons, in my clip |
| Heard about a lot a sick shit in the block, so |
| I stay locc to the brain and remain incognito |
| With my twenty sack a the bomb |
| Money back guarantee, if you hit that shit and don’t wanna kill yo' mom |
| Got the clip, glock, Chevy Impala to dump |
| Stop the glock, no you can’t the Doc from the gangbang nigga |
| So up goes yo' trigga |
| Stayin high off the cess, I’m in |
| And my nigga say |
| So fuck ya, rippin off ya forehead and down yo' cheeks |
| You in the??? |
| Doc shape 'cause I drop seven by you feet |
| And ya broke, my pockets are no for load all day |
| 'Cause that eastside slangs 'em in effective ways |
| And amazing thang |
| Is the gangbang’ll come up off a crap game, poor some mo' drank and dank |
| Then hits the stain, where my frozen Ides is |
| Twist off a cap where my liquid suicide lives |
| Frostbitten from, that Crooked I, I’m lookin through |
| We get sick, Foe Loco, the mark eastside, ridin on you |
| He comin at me wrong, damn, we between the sheets |
| Is suicide on yo' mind, must I leave you on these streets |
| Raise up off me, but really realizin the strength |
| Had him readin the? |
| and the serial number on this thang |
| Peep the slug, toke the reefer, let the barrel meet 'cha |
| Mean mug in the center of the street and the reaper then |
| Yeah, and a special shout goes out to all the playas on the southside |
| It’s a Garden Blocc thang nigga, stay rippin, know what I’m sayin |
| And everythang |
| Muthafuckin homies on the eastside, Foe Loco, Bugsy, Lil' Sky and shit nigga |
| Y’all muthafucka’s handle that gangsta shit |
| And I’m out 'til the duece-nine, Garden Blocc, ride 'til I die |
| Oh yeah, FUCK YO' ASS SNITCH, you know who I’m talkin to bitch |
| Fuck yo' ass nigga, some brand new news a nigga picked up on |
| You never know who you can trust |
| Sometimes you can’t even trust ya big homie |
| I’m out |