High Times

Lyrics

[Intro: B-Real] Do you want to get high? (Yeah!) Does everybody want to get high? (Yeah!) [Verse 1: ILL Bill] Yo, I'm like butter in the bottle, easy spraying at those Dressed in black like a funeral, praying to ghosts I'm like a thousand Newport's out the mouth of the trife Farragut Too Short, Billy fuck your mouth with a rifle Yeah fuck your face with a screwdriver, show me a goon liver A miracle I ain't in jail doing a two-fiver I speak electricity, my words are loose diamonds String 'em together like Gucci links and used medallions I take you on a journey Sometimes I feel like fuck the world, y'all don't deserve me Fuck you and your attorney I drive a hard bargain, into the fire like Don Dokken Fuck outta here, matter of fact, make it a Lȧȧz Rockit The chopper read a rat, chief popper, Desert Eagle clap My words will cause the street underneath your feet to crack Resurrect John Lennon, bring The Beatles back Resurrect Bob Marley, bring that reefer back [Verse 2: Sick Jacken] Load the auto-dab with Waxey Gordon, I get so high I feel like I'm passing Jordan every time I pack a bowl and Grow my own weed on lands stolen Cali's saw with the hashy oil got my lung mad swollen Smoke out of an apple with The Grateful Dead Just to sample cause I wanna tap it through make some bread (Yeah?) I get my weed from the street instead Cause I don't believe with a scrip, you deceive the feds What the fuck do I know, I'm a marijuano Used to doing mano-mano in the hood for my dough Now I'm [analytical] in the do?? line? La Coka Nostra, dos like through? like the mob I'm a scholar and a gentleman, Cheech & Chong veteran Complicated hood shit, like Big Sleep's lettering Waste italic cause I chase the dragon Just imagine that the dabbin' and the whiskey (?) lace the (?) [Verse 3: Slaine] I look around and see a bunch of younger me's with chips On their shoulders, smoking weed, no seeds or sticks Graduated to the yayo for the freezing drips Stashing burners in their fucking dungarees and whips Still awake at 7AM and you need your fix You was booked on a flight but it leaves at six You were cooked for the night with an easy bitch That's the lifestyle of the young and greasy rich And sleazy, it's all easy till the IRS sees me I ain't filed in years and now they starting to seize me All the debt is in fees enough to make you get queasy Can't leave rap alone, I ain't Wheezy Resurrect old Slaine, bring the evil back Resurrect John Lennon, bring The Beatles back Resurrect Cochran, I need a beat to rap Trying find my way like it's hay in a needle stack