Lyrics Bounce, Rock, Skate - Terrace Martin, Snoop Dogg, Kurupt

Bounce, Rock, Skate

I took two nickels and made a dime out it
I took two words and made a rhyme out it
It’s hard to explain it, but I did it while I’m tainted
Steady rippin' while I’m crippin', dip the shine out
I check my rear view
I tip it down a little, just to get a clear view
I got the pigs on me, I got the dips on em
So I slide, swerve, and try to dip on em
Make a smooth getaway, so clean
My windows smoke green, my endo super supreme
When the lights hit the bitch that shit turns green
But in the daytime, that motherfucker whip cream
My coup baby blue
Aye Snoop, what it do?
Aye Quik, where it’s at?
Kurupt start the 'Lac
So we can bounce, rock, rollerskate and
Dippin' down the shore on platinum Daytons
My eyes like a strobe light, won’t stop blinking
Brains like a stop sign, I can’t stop thinking
Ten shots of Patron
Fall back at the mouth, now you know it’s on
Lex pass my cellphone, so I can hit Big Snoop and Quik
Stroll to the valley cause it’s time to dip
And the DJ didn’t already play our shit
A little bit of Quik is worth all you’ve got
Life is like a pussy, you should you a shot
My foot is in my pool behind my big ass crib
Captain Morgan Spiced Rum, no coke, Mr. Pibb
When there ain’t a menage on the back of my spot
Bad bitches just lounging, only bottoms, no bra
Ponytail on my neck, who do I think I am?
Reggae music is blasting, eight is down to a gram
Now let’s go to your hood, MTV playin' jams
Niggas wearin' your couch down, wishing they were I am
You’re the colour of money, and your weed looks like Autumn
And the pockets on your jeans look like they did when you bought em
I feel you nigga, I hate me too
I wish you could make these bossy player moves that I do
I’m exotic, I’m eccentric, I’m erotic relentless
And if Snoop Dogg is the king then you know who the prince is
Now crown me the Quikness
Terrace Martin, Kurupt Young Gotti, now this is senseless
Who in the world would’ve thought that we would get this?
Know what I think?
I think your counter-free rapper-printer is all out of ink
You missed the glory days
Not to be told when the story’s phased
Cut you in the days
Chickens open up their legs and give me all their eggs
Blame them and blame me
And fuck it for that sanctity and hopin' I done pull out when I came
You call that swag?
I call that jag
Snatch off with a couple scuffles, chickens, and duffle bags
Mathematician calculating ounces and grams
Miami the Amityville, skittles and candymen
High off of all types;
the vikes to the sands
Yeah, hunna stunna, the manish candyman
What up?
The iron in any hand
Crush em like soda cans
Aroma or green the tan as the kush burns man
The bird in the hand and some urine in the bush
Fricking seeing these Vaseline bunny rappin' rabbits
It’s a habbit