Sicc & High

Lyrics

[Brotha Lynch Hung] Yeah man, (what's up?") Ya know, I was trying to tell you nigga man That nigga was trippin out man. I did all kinds of shit For him and shit, and I help that nigga outta bad situations, you know? Cuz was trippin man, I was like man Still was talking shit nigga, heard he has songs about me and shit, you know Man, so I gotta hit him back: Nigga you tha, king of comedy And I'm-a BG that's what I'm-a be Let you see that shit at close range When I tap you with that bang and wrap you up in cellophane That'll be the endin, no pretendin Siccmade and high side �crash?, do a drive by with 'em Do or die by which in em, get in em, any time, any where Cut through lanes like Chris Webber Better get it together nigga, I toughen up your leather with a Tec, shoot you in the neck, get my respect, you muthafuckin bet Might as well not sweat when I put these flames to your set And leave you, Smokey like Robinson MyUoze weigh 24 tons, and I got them Niggas on the run in em, and those 221�'s, you getted this done Thats why I pack my gun Cause when you tappin into this gangsta shit you gotta pack yo gun Some niggas gon shoot, some niggas gon run Its all mathematical, but often get tragical Holding out the cadillac roam with the metal thangs To do that ghetto thang, you know, to settle thangs To hit them pedal thangs Smash off in the Cut when you get that head in pain You watch that medic bring, black bags and gloves I gotta be thug (why?), I made that decision a long time ago Drinkin Forty's and playing dominoes Goin through drama with hoes, you know how it goes I ain't been doin no shows, ain't been steppin on no toes But the p11 9mm Ruger (what's that?), is the weapon I chose I don't need much cause I'm clutch like Shaq Diesel And I love the way the Ruger makes dead people Catch 'em comin' out the church steeple Cause he did my people You know, paybacks to the first degree And I'm crip walkin to my funeral, so it ain't no hearsin me [Ballin A$$ Dame] I got my Nike's to the turf, this is A-Blocc Im posted pushin yay rocks, to see right through these niggas character They plastic like the Glock, neighborhood watch keeps lookin But I keep jookin, shit I know where Pablo gots his birdies cookin I probably crook em See the plots to get richer quicker, make my feddy thicker Perkin off the finest liquors, pass pen, triggas get clutched I get my bucks man, MOB, thats money over bitches Six straight rags with switches, got the feds takin pictures Half heart half dope, invested my ism, is some pimp, he�'s upset with a hoe And made her hump till my pockets got the mumps like �gody? I ask the little bitch, she said, oh he's a fuckin cody So D, pistols everything from fake ID's I put holes in shady niggas, left them eatin through IV's Roll dese through the ghetto, vogues smoked like indo High speed chases throwin choppers out the window I'm wanted by the task, and bitch ass niggas gun blast And all I ever wanted was the cash Shit its like I'm hunted but I still get blunted rollin through the set I'm-a do my thing for now though, cause they ain't killed me yet And if I die then I die, shit, don't even shed a tear I'm better off where I'm goin man, cause I ain't happy here Got no fear, shit, them niggas bruise like I bruise Lose screws like I do, nigga, choose how you choose nigga, ooh!