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Mr. Doctor - 40 Oz and Chronic Dice lyrics
f/ Brotha Lynch Hung, Foe Loco (Hook) (Doc) 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 (Lynch) 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 (Hook) (Foe Loco) 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 (Hook) (Doc) (talking) 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 |
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