Sicc & High Lyrics
| Song | Sicc & High |
| Artist | Brotha Lynch Hung |
| Album | The Virus |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Brotha Lynch:(Talking) | |
| Yeah man, 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 outa bad situations, you know? | |
| Cuz was trippin man, | |
| I was like man. | |
| Still was talking shit nigga, dirty ass songs about me and shit, you know. | |
| Man, so I gotta hit him back: | |
| Nigga you tha, king of comedy,and | |
| Ima be g thatz what | |
| Ima be.Let you see that shit at close range,when | |
| I tap you with the bang, wrap you up in cellophane (sphhhh). | |
| That’ll be the endin, no pretendin,siccmade and high side ¿crash?, do a drive by wide em. | |
| Do or die by which in em, get in em, any time, any where. | |
| Cut through the lane like | |
| Chris Webber. | |
| Better get it together nigga, | |
| I toughen up your leather with a,touch, shoot you in the neck, get my respect, you mutha****in bet. | |
| Might as well not sweat when | |
| I put these flames to your set,and leave you, smokey like robinson. | |
| My oozie weigh 24 tons, and | |
| I got them,niggas on rum 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, ¿bet off and get tragical?,holding out the cadillac roam with the metal thangs,to do that ghetto thang, you know, cellophane. | |
| To hit them pedal thangs,smash off in the cup where you get that ¿hedikane? | |
| You watch that medic bring, black bags and gloves. | |
| I gotta be thug (why?), | |
| I made that decision a long time ago. | |
| Drinkin 40’s in ¿plash? dominoes,goin through drama with hoes, you know how it goes. | |
| I aint been doin no shows, aint been steppin on no toes. | |
| But the p11 9mm ruben (what’s that?), is the weapon | |
| I chose.I don’t need much cause | |
| Im clutch like shaq diesel,and | |
| I love the way the ruben make dead people. | |
| Catch em comin out the church steeple,cause he did my people. | |
| You know, paybacks to the first degree,and | |
| Im cript walkin to my funeral, so it aint no hearsin me. | |
| A-Blocc:Bouncin off to the turf, this is | |
| A-Blocc,Im posted pushin ¿yayrocks?, to see right through these niggas character. | |
| They blasted 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? | |
| Ask the little bitch, she said, “oh he’s a ****in cody.” | |
| So D, pistols everything from fake | |
| ID’s.I put hoes in shady niggas, left them eatin through our piece. | |
| 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. | |
| Ima do my thing for now though, cause they aint 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 aint happy here. | |
| Got no fear, shit, them niggas bruise like | |
| I bruise,lose ¿screws? like | |
| I do, nigga, choose how you choose nigga, ooh! |
| Brotha Lynch: Talking | |
| Yeah man, 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 outa bad situations, you know? | |
| Cuz was trippin man, | |
| I was like man. | |
| Still was talking shit nigga, dirty ass songs about me and shit, you know. | |
| Man, so I gotta hit him back: | |
| Nigga you tha, king of comedy, and | |
| Ima be g thatz what | |
| Ima be. Let you see that shit at close range, when | |
| I tap you with the bang, wrap you up in cellophane sphhhh. | |
| That' ll be the endin, no pretendin, siccmade and high side crash?, do a drive by wide em. | |
| Do or die by which in em, get in em, any time, any where. | |
| Cut through the lane like | |
| Chris Webber. | |
| Better get it together nigga, | |
| I toughen up your leather with a, touch, shoot you in the neck, get my respect, you mutha in bet. | |
| Might as well not sweat when | |
| I put these flames to your set, and leave you, smokey like robinson. | |
| My oozie weigh 24 tons, and | |
| I got them, niggas on rum 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, bet off and get tragical?, holding out the cadillac roam with the metal thangs, to do that ghetto thang, you know, cellophane. | |
| To hit them pedal thangs, smash off in the cup where you get that hedikane? | |
| You watch that medic bring, black bags and gloves. | |
| I gotta be thug why?, | |
| I made that decision a long time ago. | |
| Drinkin 40' s in plash? dominoes, goin through drama with hoes, you know how it goes. | |
| I aint been doin no shows, aint been steppin on no toes. | |
| But the p11 9mm ruben what' s that?, is the weapon | |
| I chose. I don' t need much cause | |
| Im clutch like shaq diesel, and | |
| I love the way the ruben make dead people. | |
| Catch em comin out the church steeple, cause he did my people. | |
| You know, paybacks to the first degree, and | |
| Im cript walkin to my funeral, so it aint no hearsin me. | |
| ABlocc: Bouncin off to the turf, this is | |
| ABlocc, Im posted pushin yayrocks?, to see right through these niggas character. | |
| They blasted 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? | |
| Ask the little bitch, she said, " oh he' s a in cody." | |
| So D, pistols everything from fake | |
| ID' s. I put hoes in shady niggas, left them eatin through our piece. | |
| 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. | |
| Ima do my thing for now though, cause they aint 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 aint happy here. | |
| Got no fear, shit, them niggas bruise like | |
| I bruise, lose screws? like | |
| I do, nigga, choose how you choose nigga, ooh! |
| Brotha Lynch: Talking | |
| Yeah man, 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 outa bad situations, you know? | |
| Cuz was trippin man, | |
| I was like man. | |
| Still was talking shit nigga, dirty ass songs about me and shit, you know. | |
| Man, so I gotta hit him back: | |
| Nigga you tha, king of comedy, and | |
| Ima be g thatz what | |
| Ima be. Let you see that shit at close range, when | |
| I tap you with the bang, wrap you up in cellophane sphhhh. | |
| That' ll be the endin, no pretendin, siccmade and high side crash?, do a drive by wide em. | |
| Do or die by which in em, get in em, any time, any where. | |
| Cut through the lane like | |
| Chris Webber. | |
| Better get it together nigga, | |
| I toughen up your leather with a, touch, shoot you in the neck, get my respect, you mutha in bet. | |
| Might as well not sweat when | |
| I put these flames to your set, and leave you, smokey like robinson. | |
| My oozie weigh 24 tons, and | |
| I got them, niggas on rum 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, bet off and get tragical?, holding out the cadillac roam with the metal thangs, to do that ghetto thang, you know, cellophane. | |
| To hit them pedal thangs, smash off in the cup where you get that hedikane? | |
| You watch that medic bring, black bags and gloves. | |
| I gotta be thug why?, | |
| I made that decision a long time ago. | |
| Drinkin 40' s in plash? dominoes, goin through drama with hoes, you know how it goes. | |
| I aint been doin no shows, aint been steppin on no toes. | |
| But the p11 9mm ruben what' s that?, is the weapon | |
| I chose. I don' t need much cause | |
| Im clutch like shaq diesel, and | |
| I love the way the ruben make dead people. | |
| Catch em comin out the church steeple, cause he did my people. | |
| You know, paybacks to the first degree, and | |
| Im cript walkin to my funeral, so it aint no hearsin me. | |
| ABlocc: Bouncin off to the turf, this is | |
| ABlocc, Im posted pushin yayrocks?, to see right through these niggas character. | |
| They blasted 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? | |
| Ask the little bitch, she said, " oh he' s a in cody." | |
| So D, pistols everything from fake | |
| ID' s. I put hoes in shady niggas, left them eatin through our piece. | |
| 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. | |
| Ima do my thing for now though, cause they aint 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 aint happy here. | |
| Got no fear, shit, them niggas bruise like | |
| I bruise, lose screws? like | |
| I do, nigga, choose how you choose nigga, ooh! |
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