gettin' high - dice lyrics
gettin’ high in my neighborhood…
gettin’ high in my neighborhood, chocolate tie twistin’
got the smoke; knockin’ n*ggas out like sonny liston
creepin’; coupe de ville, rollin’ on daytons
(me thumpin’ reggae) for the bomboclaat jamaicans
junkies all be feinin’ for the heroin in my possession
cop pulled my over and he spotted out my smith & wesson
(me say, “coppa, please don’t take me down”)
but them n*ggas started trippin’ so we had to bus’ a couple rounds
(that’s what them get, for always tryin’ to start sh*t)
so rest in peace, with the rest of the dead police
and other n*ggas, we never gave a f*ck about ’em
me pealed them caps, and the surgeon pulls the bullet out ’em
not everything’s understood, up to no good
n*ggas gettin’ high in my neighborhood…
gettin’ high in my neighborhood, gettin’ high…
gettin’ high in my neighborhood…
people die in my neighborhood gettin’ high…
gettin’ high in my neighborhood…
motherf*ckers heard of my because i’m dangerous
i got my nina in my hand and not afraid to bust
check yo “?mets?” motherf*cker fo’ you step to mine
’cause when you mess around with dice, n*gga…
(ain’t no sunshine)
nothin’ but h*ll on earth, wishin’ i’d died at birth
but since i didn’t, this n*gga, ain’t bullsh*ttin’
run up on n*ggas with the quickness, handle me buidness…
and then k!ll the victim and the witness
me asked the lord to change my life around
’cause every night me have dreams of being buried six feet underground
i guess i was put here, to commit sin
hang wit’ my n*ggas; smoke buddha; drink juice & gin
(he’s just your lonely ruthless n*gga, ha ha ha ha)
gettin’ high in my neighborhood…
gettin’ high in my neighborhood, gettin’ high…
gettin’ high in my neighborhood…
people die in my neighborhood gettin’ high…
gettin’ high in my neighborhood…
just hangin’ with my n*ggas; smokin’, kickin’ it live
slangin’ boulders on the corner, n*ggas gotta survive
coppers comin’ through my neighborhood, f*ckin’ up blacks
got the b*tches on the corner sellin’ p*ssy for crack
lots of wicked motherf*ckers k!llin’ n*ggas for cash
got the winos in the alleys eatin’ food out the trash
(another drive*by shootin’) yep, the damage is done
we couldn’t catch the shiesty n*gga so we murdered his son
retaliation in the hood, incarceration no good
free*basin’ understood
gettin’ high in my neighborhood…
gettin’ high in my neighborhood, gettin’ high…
gettin’ high in my neighborhood…
people die in my neighborhood gettin’ high…
gettin’ high in my neighborhood…
roll a phat*ass joint…
(reggae style)
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