Trackmasters - Smoke lyrics

Peep the reprucussions Causing deep discussions Brothers that fight might only speak to cousins Rugged life but n***as in my fleet is stubborn Grandma's they turn to Stella's when they need some loving My name holds weight, bigger than a Saint Bernard Some think because its rap that it ain't a job Think again, i try to sepearate my do's from don'ts n***as be slittin they wrist, losing they hoes Some dudes be confused when they broke Misrabale, looking d**h in the eye dont blink quick to smile My hoodrats be women now, ?? lot Yall'a always be my b**hes lonely or not How much a** can i pa** up? tilt your gla** up This one's for the kids in Arkansas that shot they cla** up When I smoke I like my hash crushed beleive it or not Q-B forever n***as keeping it locked Smoking cheeba Some supply it some'll grow it Reefer Some'll buy it some'll roll it The chronic If you try'd it then you know it The toxic I'm getting high when i roll it You know i wanna hit the chocolate Some brothers love to see them clouds The hydro Some brothers love to get aroused The la-la In some paper or a dutch The ganja I can't wait to get a rush Marijuana I play cards with Ray Charles Cheat for a grand Once I deal out the deck take a peak at his hand He got blackjacks but still losing is ?{weak I write a hook and feel my beat Trayino, Mike G should read his feet}? Play these n***as Now in 98 no time to graze n***as Cause they might tell White judges, like the icegrill Hoes set you up-the same way that Pac and Mike fell Private affairs if I know your wife well Switch to different subjects Some of the styles that I hit you up with I make it hard for you to kick your tough sh** Major adjustments I package a flame for all you bustas Wrapped up put on a shelf full of substance I drug clicks, anti-biotic, rarely spotted n***as hear my name periodic I feel we got it King of New York Only the real'll cop it Chorus I been all across the world on my quest for some herb Spots be selling dirt keep the federal resevere Smoking in bongs, n***as know that its 'dro in the Bronx I like that stinky green sh** that be growing in swamps Half-Baked puff, puff, then you pa** it to me Good weed'll make you eat the last sh** on your plate Forget your songs seperate stix from stones If your chronic come with stix leave that sh** alone Reapeat Chorus 2x