Chingy - Dice Game lyrics

[Chorus] (I'm the calm one, but my crew is sorta sick) Yeah, big l is the first to represent. Yo, on the mic is big l, that brother who kicks flavs, god. Known for sendin' garbage mcs to the graveyard. I pack a gat, not a slingshot; Step to this and get an a**-whoopin' like rodney king got. Or get beat to your d**h like cochise, My laws is no peace, f** the police. M-C's get braggin' about cash they collect, But them chumps is like ray Charles, Cause they ain't seen no money yet. Trash rappers I tax and spark, I be wettin' n***as up like water rides at action park. A n***a stuck me, and that ain't funny son, So I got money gun, they wet him and his honey bun. Cause phony f*ggots I froze, it's a fact, I flip fast on foes with fabulous fantastic flows. L is the rebel type, I'm rough as a metal pipe, f** a benz, cause I could pull skins on a pedal-bike. Props, I got the most, no mc comes close,coast-to-coast, Shows I host, foes I roast, adios, I'm ghost [Chorus] Yo, street ? in new york is a place this n***a stands With a machete I'm a crazy Eddie scissor hands. Born with such a thirst to k**, I can tap 200 quarters from a $50 bill. Cuttin' b**h-n***as down with a hundred pound axe Like I was raised by psycho-crazed lumberjacks. So in a battle I be stabbin',choppin' M-C'ss like trees, Piece-by-piece buildin' cabins. I'm a maniac magician, Abra cadabra, Makin' pain appear cause I'm-a grab arusty chain to make a noose To choke your a** so hard, you're spittin' f**in' adam's apple juice. So come check the magic show by Deshawn, And witness the way I put you to d**h with a magic wand. Turnin' your home to a casket, Turn your wife into a widow and your son into a ba*tard. Cause I love to keep M-C's sufferin', Beggin' for big, heavy bags of bufferin'. Baseball battin' 'em, splattin' 'em, So many homicide records, my cases went platinum. D'shawn is nice, Known for givin' out head cracks without touchin' dice. Just pain and punishment from the boogie down bronxter, D'shawn the maniac street mobster. [Chorus] It's the f-I-n-e-double-s-e, Don't play or stress me Cause that sh** don't impress me I make papes off the sh** I create, and then dictate So get your motherf**in' sh** straight I got sk**s and I'm hard to k**, So y'all b**h-a** rappes better chill and just guard your grill You grab a mic and always get hype Talkin' bout f**in' n***as up When you can bearly beat your dick right So stop ridin' my dilznick Cause I can still kick the ill sh** on the motherf**in' real tip Hit like foreman when I'm brawlin' Those who think I'm fallin, I'll play your monkey-a** like a organ I got crazy n***as in the city noid Got mad b**hes, but it's not cause I'm a motherf**in' pretty-boy I'm ruthless, I'm not on that goody-goody tip That sh** played out with that beat street/electric boogie sh** I'll stomp any rapper that you ? If they a** is weak, they better chill and grab a seat And go 'head with they master plan Stevie wonder probably see me 'fore half you rappers can You can't hang and you're fallin' fast You rappers that's trash better dash and start haulin' a** Cause I'm out to rag sh** f** up a show, collect my dough And step off with a bad b**h Spectators always have the best time When they come to a show and hear a funky lord finesse rhyme I'm out to get bigger, lounge and make rich figures You'll never catch finesse a**ociating with b**h n***as I work overtime when it's time to go for mine Crab-a** rappers, don't even front cause y'all know the time So it's time for me to step Peace to showbiz and ag and I'm off to the left [Chorus] Check-check-check it a to the g is gonna wreck it. On stage, on my record, so n***a don't forget it. I'm the man. the one-man-band is on my right hand. (his name is show nitwit, so get wit the program) I get a hit from my Buddha blessed. Turn my hat to the back, now let's see who's the best. I like my pockets fat, never ever flat. n***as wanna jack, my .45 ain't havin' that. Hoes get no dough, so why try? Think it's gonna be a hit 'n' run? wrong, it's a drive-by. n***as catchin' tantrums,because your girl's never safe around The midnight phantom. They predicted I'm-a fall, They must be down with Michael Jackson cause that sh** is off the wall. You don't believe me, ask that brother show, Snatchin' hotties, grabbin' hotties, lettin' mothaf**ers know. You come wrong if you don't come strong, You better catch wreck! mothaf**er, I made the song. Styles will vary, they won't carry over. Don't f** with no devil, I'd rather marry Oprah. Yeah, you got it, I'm pro-black, And my sk**s are so phat, I pay my dues, I don't owe jack. You bite my style, I can spot it. Tryin' real hard to get it, You can forget it, because you don't got it. And my sk**s are excellent, diggin' in the crates And it's time to represent! [Chorus]