[Intro: Michael Marshall]
Creep on in, on in, on in (Whoa)
See I'm ridin' high (Whoa)
Kinda broke this evening, y'all, so all I got's five, I got five
[Verse 1: Yukmouth]
Player, give me some brew and I might just chill
But I'm the type that like to light another joint, like Cypress Hill
I steal doobies, spit loogies when I puff on it
I got some bucks on it, but it ain't enough on it
Go get the S, the T, I D-E-S
Nevertheless, I'm hella fresh, rollin' joints like a cigarette
So pass it 'cross the table like ping pong
I'm gone, beatin' my chest like King Kong
It's on, wrap my lips around the forty and when it comes to
Getting another stogie, fools all kick in like
Shinobi. No, he ain't my homie to begin with
It's too many heads to be poppin' to let my friend hit it
Bit unless you pull out the fat, crispy
Five-dollar bill, on the real, before it's history
‘Cause fools be havin' them vacuum lungs
And if you let 'em hit it for free, you hella dumb-da-dumb-dumb
I come to school with the Taylor on my earlobe
Avoiding all the thick teasers, skeezers, and weirdos
That be blowing off the land, like, "Where the bomb at?"
Give me two bucks, you take a puff, and pass my bomb back
Suck up that dank like a Slurpee, the serious
Bomb will make a niggy go delirious, like Eddie Murphy
I got more growing pains than Maggie
‘Cause homies nag me to take the dank out of the baggie
Creep on in, on in, on in (Whoa)
See I'm ridin' high (Whoa)
Kinda broke this evening, y'all, so all I got's five, I got five
[Verse 1: Yukmouth]
Player, give me some brew and I might just chill
But I'm the type that like to light another joint, like Cypress Hill
I steal doobies, spit loogies when I puff on it
I got some bucks on it, but it ain't enough on it
Go get the S, the T, I D-E-S
Nevertheless, I'm hella fresh, rollin' joints like a cigarette
So pass it 'cross the table like ping pong
I'm gone, beatin' my chest like King Kong
It's on, wrap my lips around the forty and when it comes to
Getting another stogie, fools all kick in like
Shinobi. No, he ain't my homie to begin with
It's too many heads to be poppin' to let my friend hit it
Bit unless you pull out the fat, crispy
Five-dollar bill, on the real, before it's history
‘Cause fools be havin' them vacuum lungs
And if you let 'em hit it for free, you hella dumb-da-dumb-dumb
I come to school with the Taylor on my earlobe
Avoiding all the thick teasers, skeezers, and weirdos
That be blowing off the land, like, "Where the bomb at?"
Give me two bucks, you take a puff, and pass my bomb back
Suck up that dank like a Slurpee, the serious
Bomb will make a niggy go delirious, like Eddie Murphy
I got more growing pains than Maggie
‘Cause homies nag me to take the dank out of the baggie
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