Bizzy Bone Sticky Icky Lyrics: I got that sticky-icky... (3 x's) I got that sticky-icky...blue bonic shizzle for yo grizzle nizzle... Fa'shizzle. Nigga fo'sheezaayy! [Hook] [I got that sticky-icky...blue bonic chronic for
yo shizzle nizzle... In yo' grizzle. Nigga
fo'sheezaayy... I got that sticky-icky...blue
bonic chronic for yo grizzle nizzle... Fa'shizzle.
Nigga fo'sheezaayy!
Verse 1: OOH WEE! Nigga got that good sticky weed!
Get it in a swisher, Pass it to my nigga.
Mothafucka better pick up a gun, you better
prepare Got my eyes closed, let the smoke go
everywhere 45 on the freeway, nigga gimme le-way
Higher then a kite while I'm rollin through the
alley Pass me a black and white, But that's my boy
cause me and his kids is tight And the weed is
lime-green, betta catch it from a chronic seed And
it was callin me...oh yeah. I can't wait 'til this
shit's in the air Smoke everywhere... I hail...a
little bitty nigga that was sellin the rocks on
the Clair And the devil is here...and he wants
your soul. To rot with his in hell, hell... Then
again they could put a nigga in jail...when I'm
just tryna get by But I use to sell...and now I
leave it alone cuz I'm doin well, well.. I never
sold out! I can do what I wanna. My baby momma
want money. I never hold out! Hey, bitch hold up.
And try to leave me all thawed-ed out Man, I'ma be
fucked up. No doubt! I'm blowin up...
[Hook]
Verse 2: Rap and the crack, and the dice, like
when I get on bracklin' And it'll be the Dope Man.
And that nigga sold crack And crack
man...humiliation to the black man, black man...
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My momma smoke weed, my daddy smoke weed Hell, we
all smoke weed... So I'm havin my fun, so give me
what me need, baaby I like ta got up in "High
Times", I even gotta dail for my nigga
"0-9-9" Dail for the chron, nigga, don't
let the cops come Cuz I'll be runnin wit mine,
like we got rock Feelin fine, and my heart's
already runnin I get the drama and it's steady
comin, a c'mon... (Inhales) "What you wanna
do?" "It's on you, wayy...all day
everyday" hey... Fuck! Gotta do shit. Got
thangs to do A nigga really got kids and bills,
wit the crew I'ma pay them nigga, you already
knew-baby baller I call all my trues "How
does it relate to weed?" "Fuck the weed!
Relate to me. The real nigga with the T.H.C. And
no G.H.B...these are the last days. Roll me a
sweet! A-c'mon! A-c'mon!
[Hook]
I'm blowin up... (8 x's) (Chronic, chronic,
chronic...)
Verse 3: I'm ready for the war...still got time to
let the weed cure Watch for the women with STD
sores, blessed in the rythm I got to get soar And
full of adrenaline...in your...mellinium...full of
my drink I'll be in the back wit
titenium..."damn, that's the shit I'm
smokin'" Weed got a mothafucka
thinkinn...Yeah. Up, jumped in the cab and rushed,
but B cant catch the bus. I'm goin to see my
broad. And fuck y'all niggaz, I'm in love. Ain't
nobody finna stop me, dawg... "What's with
the dreads? You might be wanting to mind ya
bidness there, yellow man." Man fuck you
nigga! Young nigga to the hood, dawg. I got the
weed and I'ma break the bread, yeah...uh... On the
freeway coasting like we was riding a limo. Fuck
that. Windows was tinted. It's me and it's like
Sizzler-crush grass. 'Til it finished, we puffed
puffed and pass (give it back!) And Im still on
point, I got my mind on the hour glass "Ey,
why the fuck you not driving fast? Hurry up, I got
ass-to-mash. And I'm there.
[Hook]
Lyrics: Sticky Icky, Bizzy Bone [end] |