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why does people always wanna know about Richter? |
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what I do is smoke |
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how much I really smoke |
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if I got as many bongs as I claim |
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if my barks about drinkin is just a game |
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when is enough? |
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*music starts* |
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drinkin' vodka, Blue Label, Schirnoff on the rocks |
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used to have my sack but I left it at Pac's |
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fake rips got me trippin' |
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shit I almost got lost |
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walkin' up to my old crib |
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comin' from the garage but the night ain't over yet |
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I got places to go |
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hit the bong and get faded but I needed some mo' |
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I told 'em make sure it's mean but when you brought my green |
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it was on the B.C. so I only got a faze |
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know what I mean? |
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if you don't, that's my lingo a faze is an eighth |
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I don't want more than an eighth if It ain't crypt out on the plate |
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sayin' it ain't crypt doesn't mean that it ain't kind |
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it just means the herb you got ain't close to half as good as mine |
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that's right the truth hurts but not as bad as the dirt |
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comin' up through your throat when you choke and that's my word |
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damn that shit burns |
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I don't even like to think about the kottonmouth you'd suffer |
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if you didn't have a drink |
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*chorus starts* |
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cause these are the types of things I do |
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and these are the types of tales I tell |
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people ask me if I smoke, I say I do |
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and the smoke I exhale got that chronic smell |
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*chorus ends* |
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wake up when I want cause that's the life I lead |
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out every night, takin' trips every week |
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hangin' out with my peeps, just livin' the life |
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only smokin' out of glass when you hittin' metal pipes |
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and passports, gettin' filled |
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you know the show be tight if KMK's on the bill |
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cut rock, get lock, kicks never seem to stop |
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when the crowd gets tired it's their heads that bop |
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I got a job but I ain't callin' it work |
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gettin' paid to smoke herb ain't work |
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it's absurd |
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Kottonmouth Kings takin' over this millenium |
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Suburban Noize family, I know you will be feelin' 'em |
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comin' out your stereo and seein' us on stage |
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leave thousands of stunts, leavin' ladies in a daze |
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people shocked and amazed |
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the weak-hearted seem to faint when they take one hit |
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off of Johnny Richter's dank |
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cause I keep goin' |
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continue with the flowin' like the rappers on my corners |
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people say that I am goin' |
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ever flowin' like my hydro when my rap is gettin' far |
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grab a hundred pounds of chronic then a fancy fuckin' car |
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*chorus starts* |
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cause these are the types of things I do |
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and these are the types of tales I tell |
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but ask me if I smoke, I say I do |
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and that smoke I exhale got that chronic smell |
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cause these are the types of things I do |
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and these are the types of tales I tell |
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but ask me if I smoke, I say I do |
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and that smoke I exhale got that chronic smell |
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*chorus ends* |
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stumble in the front door, throw my jacket on the ground |
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looked left, looked right, shit I looked all around |
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the house is all quiet, didn't hear a single sound |
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grabbed a bottle of Bicardi and proceeded to pound |
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about a quarter way through, 'bout eleven thirty-two |
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headed to Del Taco cause I need to get some food |
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if not I'm gonna puke and I don't want that |
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shouldn't have drank twenty, bi'ch |
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shouldn't have smoked ten bags |
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relax, that is my stomach of course |
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shit was comin' up fast and it was chargin' with force |
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now past my vocal chord, quickly approachin' my teeth |
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throwin' up every color; yellow, red, orange, green |
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and there it was for me to see right infront of my eyes |
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a burrito, two tacos, and my chili-cheese fries |
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now there's a lesson to learn if you listen right here |
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beer lickin', never sip the liquor and you in the clear |
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*chorus starts* |
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cause these are the types of things I do |
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and these are the types of tales I tell |
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but ask me if I smoke, I say I do |
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and that smoke I exhale got that chronic smell |
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*chorus ends* |
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don't worry about it |
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Johnny Richter out smokin' the fuckin' planet all day long |
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don't forget I was an underage alcoholic before |
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you was hittin' the bong |
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been smokin' for over a decade |
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got ten years under my belt and I ain't even twenty-four |
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don't worry about it |
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*record scratching "Devestating to your ear"* |
