Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 40 Oz & Chronic Dice, artist - Mr. Doctor
Date of issue: 02.10.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
40 Oz & Chronic Dice |
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 |