A friend with weed is a friend indeed,
Word to the stem, word to the seed.
Tag Archives: weed
I mastered The Art of War before a nigga read Sun Tzu,
Third degree black-belt, master of Gun-Fu.
Pop pills, smoke weed, even get drunk too;
And you do what you can, and I do what I want to.
Hey kid, walk straight, master your high.
Full moons, skunk weed all up in the room;
You got the munchies, baby? Ice cold milk and Lorna Doones.
It’s for real though, let’s connect, politic…ditto!
We could trade places, get lifted in the staircases,
Word up, peace, incarcerated scarfaces.
My life is a blunt to the head, a prayer for the dead,
Run around hustlin…scared of the feds.
They said death is eternal sleep,
But the only thing is you ain’t really sure if you prepared for the bed.
When I hit the bong
I’m Godzilla takin’ over Hong Kong
Eatin’ wonton with a shotgun in long johns.
Real slow hits from the bong…
Make me feel like Cheech,
And I’m kickin’ it with Chong.
I never boned a honey that I didn’t like,
I never saw a mile that I couldn’t hike.
I never had a spliff to make me choke,
I never had a pocket that was broke.
I be with broads that got they shit together;
Even if it ain’t meant forever, still smoke the spliff together.
The essence of the herbs, the presence of the words…
Yeah you got a chest, but I’m treasurin’ your curves.
Life is full of stress and it wrecks my brain,
So I puff the buddha bless and destroy the pain.
Funny how things change when you got a liquor in ya:
You’re quicker with the tongue, givin’ me rhythm now.
Block the music and the people out to admire the love,
The nerve of us…impervious to the entire club.
And like marijuana shotguns, let’s blow this joint,
It’s pointless to stay here, so let me anoint.
I’ve been to college, but to be truthfully frank:
Weed is knowledge, cause it makes me think.
Now on the first day of Christmas, my homeboy gave to me
A sack of the krazy glue and told me to smoke it up slowly.
Now on the second day of Christmas, my homeboy gave to me
A fifth of Hendog and told me to take my mind off that weed.
Now by the third day of Christmas, my big homeboy gave to me
A whole lot of everything, and it wasn’t nuthin’ but game to me.
I’m so Rakim and Eric. B, bitches check out my melody.
I might Slick Rick on a fella…catch me a felony.
I might Shyne Po a ho…POW! Catch me a case.
Producto must have rolled the L because this blunt feels laced.
Bummy nigga famous, straight from the bottom,
Broke niggas hate it, still never robbed ‘em.
Guns in the basement, out they have a problem,
Kush be my fragrance, we love marijuana.
Guns and the sneakers made Jada.
The bitches and the reefer came later
With the money and the haters.
I drink twenty forties, smoke forty blunts,
Say a hundred rhymes, and not sound like you once.
It’s a beautiful day, and everybody’s feelin’ wonderful,
The ladies is out, lookin’ fly, dressed comfortable.
I love to wake up, and feel the breeze through my window,
Slip on fatigues, grab a dutch, and roll some indo.
…Shorty’s laugh was cold-blooded as he spoke so foul,
Only twelve tryin to tell me that he liked my style.
Then I rose, wiping the blunt’s ash from my clothes,
Then froze, only to blow the herb smoke through my nose.
Love and hate, black and white,
Right or wrong, who is right?
Some smoke joints to anoint their brain
To the vanishing point…so they won’t go insane.
I wanna live like Arnold, Willis and Mr. Drummond…
And keep my paper sturdy, big birds and tight herbs.
Breathe in…inhale vapors from bright stars that shine,
Breathe out…weed smoke retrace the skyline.
Footballs, basketballs, microphones, gas and grass…
Just some of the few things that J-Ro likes to pass.
Your new CD is a weed plate, nothin’ but love songs,
100% pure garbage, just something to break up buds on.
I left my Phillie at home,
Do you have another?
I wanna get blunted, my brother.
The route to all evil…daily I chase it.
Blow it on weed and drink, and hustle to replace it.
So concisely, musically we are the herb
So sit back and light me.
Inhale…
My style’s kinda fat, reminiscent of a whale.
I’m not sayin I’m a pothead, cause I’m not.
I’m just sayin that I smoke a lot.
And how ‘bout the non-blunt rollin’ females
That always fucks it up ’cause they don’t wanna break their Lee nails?
Hits from the bong
Make me feel like Cheech,
And I’m kickin’ it wit’ Chong.
Although I hit a pound of herbs, I’m still nice with the verbs.
So fuck what ya heard.
Pull down the shades on the windows of your soul,
And gaze into your mind and watch the wisdom unfold…
A forty and a blunt, that’s all she really wants.
Every time the ball drop on New Year’s Eve,
We toast to more money, we smoke to more cheese…
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Mental energy from within keeps me higher,
Than anything rolled and set on fire
I smoked with a lot of college students…
Most of em wasn’t graduatin, and they knew it.
So let me explain the game,
Break it down a couple of levels like Tetris:
These young uns kill they own blood for a necklace,
Leave ya slumped over the wheel of ya Lexus,
Smoke kush, wake up and eat breakfast…
…what the fuck you expect?
I never boned a honey that I didn’t like
I never saw a mile that I couldn’t hike
I never had a spliff to make me choke
I never had a pocket that was broke
Nigga this is personal, you can’t get no whiff of this
I rolled this shit myself and Imma smoke it til the end of it
I rolls two spliffs, so now I guess I’m double jointed
Killer Mike (Run the Jewels) • “Oh Mama” • RTJ3 • 2016
I smoke the holy herb, get high as hell and meditate.
Swear to God, shit’s so good…fat boy’ll levitate.
God’s gift to man, how the fuck they try to legislate?
Mom’s, she recovering, tell me I overmedicate.
I tell her, “Holy fuck, Jesus Christ, give me a fucking break!”
She said, “Don’t curse your mama, goddammit,” and threw a dinner plate.
Killer Mike, “Oh Mama,” from Run the Jewel’s RTJ3, 2016
Posdnuous (De La Soul) • “Smile a Lil’ Bit” • 2006
You need to smile a lil’ bit, frown a lil’ less.
Read a couple of books, and then smoke a lil’ sess.
Get your mind right, but don’t OD,
Cause overdoin’ it ain’t doin’ it with quality.
– Posdnuous of De La Soul, “Smile a Lil Bit,” from Oh No’s Exodus Into Unheard Rhythms, 2006
Smoke good, fuck, eat, drink.
Drive nice car, wear all green mink.
Blow out your speakers, roll some more loud;
That’s the sound of the reefer, I think my parents is proud.
Thank my fans in the bleachers, think my teachers need features,
I think I’m walking with Jesus, I knew my feet wouldn’t drown.
‘Cause in my physical I can express through song,
Delete stress like Motrin, then extend strong.
I drink Moet with Medusa, give her shotguns in hell
From the spliff that I lift and inhale…it ain’t hard to tell.
It ain’t hard to tell, I excel then prevail,
The mic is contacted, I attract clientele.
My mic check is life or death, breathing a sniper’s breath,
I exhale the yellow smoke of buddha through righteous steps.
I’m sick and tired of these fake-ass niggas,
Saying that they’re catching bodies when they never pulled a trigger.
I know your style, I’ve seen it before,
You wearing army suit, now you think you’re hardcore.
Drinking on your 40’s, smoking on your blunts,
Can’t afford a chain so you wear gold fronts…
You fakin’ the funk, kid.
And you’d be getting it up the ass if you ever did a fucking bid.
My whole persona’s kinda laid back like a recliner,
And since a minor, I been fucking with marijuana.
Life’s a bitch and then you die.
That’s why we get high,
Cause you never know when you’re gonna go.
Before I lay my head down to rest,
I roll up a nickel sack of cess to relieve the stress.
I mastered The Art of War before a nigga read Sun Tzu,
Third degree black-belt, master of Gun-Fu.
Pop pills, smoke weed, even get drunk too;
And you do what you can, and I do what I want to.