Mr. Doctor - 40 Oz and Chronic Dice lyrics

(Hook) (Doc) Finally the sun went down in the hood and I was budded Dice game and fat sacks a indo Serviced with High Times and maybe 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 muthaf**a (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 n***as love to start sh** Five pound chronic dice, in my mits Fifteen teflons, in my clip Heard about a lot a sick sh** 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 sh** and don't wanna k** yo' mom Got the clip, Glock, Chevy Impala that don't stop Stop the Glock, no you can't the Doc from the g**n n***a So up goes yo' trigga Stayin high off the sensamilla And my n***a say (Hook) (Foe Loco) So f** it, 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 on overload all day Cause that eastside slangs 'em in effective ways And amazing thang Is the g**n I'll come up off a crap game, fo' some mo' drank n dank Then hits the 'Stang, 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', eatin' the serial number off his thang 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 n***a, stay rippin, know what I'm sayin And everythang Muthaf**in homies on the eastside, Foe Loco, Bugsy, Lil' Sky and sh** n***a Y'all muthaf**a's handle that gangsta sh** And I'm out 'til the duece-nine, Garden Blocc, ride 'til I die Oh yeah, fu*k YO' ASS SNITCH, you know who I'm talkin to b**h f** yo' a** n***a, some brand new news a n***a picked up on You never know who you can trust Sometimes you can't even trust ya big homie I'm out