Guest
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IP:
Dope feen niggaz can't come down off droe//
So "HIGH" in the sky, which way to go they don't know//
Feelen relaxed kicked backed and laugh out loud whenever//
Maken bongs and bowls out whatever, house appliances is clever//
Together, you got your foil, pens, pepsi bottles and pop cans//
You puff for the enjoyment and for the memories wit ya manz//
When 4:20 comes ticken we guarentteed to the know the plans//
We just blow air out like fans, THC remain in the lungs feelen things//
Feelen more "BOUNCE" than "SPRINGS", hearen things, like telephone rings//
Then ya niggas start cracken up when you do stupid shit like tryen to sing//
But we know it's all good cause it's a straight weed thang//
All up in your system, and you can't hold back//
As it takes over your mind, your feelens, and thas that//
Tryen to act, normal when your parents come around//
Try to put on a straight face and not make one sound//
And when they ask "Why your eyes red?", you say we was so playen around//
Thas how high niggaz get down across the town//
Especially me, thas why i wear the chronic crown!
~Strict~
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