Bounce, Rock, Skate - Terrace Martin, Snoop Dogg, Kurupt

I took two nickels and made a dime out it

I took two words and made a rhyme out it

It’s hard to explain it, but I did it while I’m tainted

Steady rippin' while I’m crippin', dip the shine out

I check my rear view

I tip it down a little, just to get a clear view

I got the pigs on me, I got the dips on em

So I slide, swerve, and try to dip on em

Make a smooth getaway, so clean

My windows smoke green, my endo super supreme

When the lights hit the bitch that shit turns green

But in the daytime, that motherfucker whip cream

My coup baby blue

Aye Snoop, what it do?

Aye Quik, where it’s at?

Kurupt start the 'Lac

So we can bounce, rock, rollerskate and

Dippin' down the shore on platinum Daytons

My eyes like a strobe light, won’t stop blinking

Brains like a stop sign, I can’t stop thinking

Ten shots of Patron

Fall back at the mouth, now you know it’s on

Lex pass my cellphone, so I can hit Big Snoop and Quik

Stroll to the valley cause it’s time to dip

And the DJ didn’t already play our shit

A little bit of Quik is worth all you’ve got

Life is like a pussy, you should you a shot

My foot is in my pool behind my big ass crib

Captain Morgan Spiced Rum, no coke, Mr. Pibb

When there ain’t a menage on the back of my spot

Bad bitches just lounging, only bottoms, no bra

Ponytail on my neck, who do I think I am?

Reggae music is blasting, eight is down to a gram

Now let’s go to your hood, MTV playin' jams

Niggas wearin' your couch down, wishing they were I am

You’re the colour of money, and your weed looks like Autumn

And the pockets on your jeans look like they did when you bought em

I feel you nigga, I hate me too

I wish you could make these bossy player moves that I do

I’m exotic, I’m eccentric, I’m erotic relentless

And if Snoop Dogg is the king then you know who the prince is

Now crown me the Quikness

Terrace Martin, Kurupt Young Gotti, now this is senseless

Who in the world would’ve thought that we would get this?

Know what I think?

I think your counter-free rapper-printer is all out of ink

You missed the glory days

Not to be told when the story’s phased

Cut you in the days

Chickens open up their legs and give me all their eggs

Blame them and blame me

And fuck it for that sanctity and hopin' I done pull out when I came

You call that swag?

I call that jag

Snatch off with a couple scuffles, chickens, and duffle bags

Mathematician calculating ounces and grams

Miami the Amityville, skittles and candymen

High off of all types;

the vikes to the sands

Yeah, hunna stunna, the manish candyman

What up?

The iron in any hand

Crush em like soda cans

Aroma or green the tan as the kush burns man

The bird in the hand and some urine in the bush

Fricking seeing these Vaseline bunny rappin' rabbits

It’s a habbit