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(Krayzie) |
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Roll another one |
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Roll another one |
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Roll another one |
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Pass the blunt |
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We be fiendin' for sticky weed, man... |
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Roll another one |
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Roll another one |
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Roll another one |
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Pass the blunt, nigga |
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I wanna get high, so high |
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(Brina) |
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Nigga, first thing in morning 'fore I even get up |
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I gots to start off my day to a fat-ass blunt |
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Step out the house on the get-high-creep |
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'Cause when I'm good and fucked-up |
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I'm a smash some peeps, and ain't nothin' |
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Like smokin' when you're a fool |
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Find the next, get a hot spot, jump in it 'til ya pull |
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Ridin' on the Clair, 'cause over there they can smoke it |
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And while I'm on the topic |
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Here's a shot to all that know me |
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(Krayzie) |
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Smoke, smoke, smoke |
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Smoke up the whole thing, better believe it |
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That's how we get weeded, so nigga |
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Quit tryin' to budget your but |
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'Cause it's a whole lot of thugs and niggas gettin' high |
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So don't go smoke a blunt, and you got a ounce in the ride |
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Nigga, come off that reefer, 'cause I go broke everytime |
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Indo slow blowin' my mind |
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Still I proceed to hit that shit - it's wicked, sticky |
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Smoke one with your thugsta, thugsta |
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And show me you can smoke with the thugs |
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Because I'm gonna get you high |
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If you wanna get higher, come ride |
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I will fly you |
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(Jhaz) |
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? puff, 'cause really it ain't ? |
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Ain't wastin' no herb by lettin' it burn, let me hit that sticky |
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Nothin' but the Moet in my cup, the sticky packed in the blunt |
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My cap is too thick, so I'm constantly blazin' another blunt up |
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We smokes all day, when the sticky runs out |
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Gotta roll to the hood for a stress sack |
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Gotta get that blaze on still, gotta keep them wig-splittin' back |
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Bump these hardest tracks, rappin' on the album of the century |
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They the thugs that got it before these trues make moves |
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And history, strictly on a mission to have a good time |
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Freestyles and rhymes, smoke dimes |
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Shots out to any true that gotta bag of this here, now |
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(Layzie) |
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Oh, how I love my green leaves, nigga |
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Givin' nothin' but respect, and I really ain't picky |
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I fuck with the stress, but I got four-fifty on the best weed |
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Tonight, we gettin' higher than high, let's all get lifted |
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P.O.D.'ded and tweeded, that indo needs to be seedless |
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So you know I'm fiendin', now am I wrong for smokin' this on 'til the dawn? |
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? in infamy done brought me back the bomb, and it's on |
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So what I'm a do is I'm a twist it up and hit the sticky for you |
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Smoke and choke with II Tru - they keepin' it platinum |
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Makin' it happen for the Land, smokin' and movin' as we speak |
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Tryin' to teach the world to be a thug in harmony |
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Nigga, we keepin' the bomb-ass weed |
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Blaze it up, nigga, what? |
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Mo Thugs is 'bout the music and bud, equal love |
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(Jhaz) |
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Can I blaze, man? |
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Pass me the Swisha, Optimo, Philly Blunt, or the House of Windsor |
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Twist ya head back, snap, crack, inhale the smoke |
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Then, pass it to the left, so the next man can toke |
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Loc, homie, I'm cool on that water |
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Just bring that sticky and this drink, do me fine, playa partner |
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Miss bitch the shit, 'cause you can't smoke for free |
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And naw, smokin' weed don't make a sister horny |
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Ignore the silly ones |
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Keep on thuggin' for life |
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Place the lighter to my blunt, 'cause it's time to get high |
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(Krayzie) |
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Call up my family, let 'em know the reason I blow |
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Celebration, we done slapped the platinum back at you hoes |
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So, you know it's on (it's on) |
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So, how my niggas had to show me, homie |
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I'm fucked-up 'til the morning sunlight |
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Lick and twist another Swisha soon as I get up |
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And then right after breakfast puff another |
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Fucked-up |
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Wonder if it's good for my health |
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'Cause ain't known a muthafucka that done O.D.'d on weed yet |
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So, bring your blunts and some Hen and some herb |
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My nigga, fuck what ya heard |
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My Mo Thug niggas splurge |
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(Brina) |
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Better learn to ? mo, much love |
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Got thousands from Cleveland to Cali |
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That's how we roll, follow 'em |
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Once humongous blow up even more, when we crash the show |
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We shuts 'em down underground, clown from town to town |
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Bring a box of fifty House of Windsors |
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We about to blaze this pound of the real sticky |
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Bum rush in my lungs with a cloud of smoke, puff 'em |
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'Bout ready to exhale before me mind blow |
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E-Z Wider, Swisha, or Philly, don't matter really |
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'Cause it smoke the same |
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You know the procedure: two hits, then pass to the left when we blazin' |
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All my trues who toke and roll in the Clair all day long |
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We some representers, bumpin' on these here thug songs |
