Roll It Up

[Chorus: Jet 2 w/ Hitman]
She said she want that contact, I
Get her hot-box high
All in her eye (the ride)
Roll a little weed up for me for me for me (roll it up for me)

[Verse 1: Hitman]
Baby I'm so high, baby I'm so faded
Been smokin' weed, you should taste this
I feel faceless, eyes tight like braces
Chiefin' with my niggas like we play the Raiders
Check out my steez, fire in all my weed
And I get high all by myself if ain't no one to please
Cause I've got several needs, that involve several things
And one of 'em is your girl wet while I swim in between, Yeah

[Chorus: Jet 2 w/ Hitman]
She said she want that contact, I
Get her hot-box high
All in her eye (the ride)
Roll a little weed up for me for me for me (roll it up for me)

[Verse 2: Hitman]
Four grams in a blunt, shit burn for thirty minutes
Eyes and your throat burnin' just a couple symptoms
On my high cloud, suddenly in rhythm
That's when I'm feelin' my bars like I went to prison
But I went to the medical shop right on Venice
Where I copped the dro that hit harder than tennis
Higher than me, you finished
Probably need a replenish
Been doin' this since tenth grade when I started ditchin'

[Chorus: Jet 2 w/ Hitman]
She said she want that contact, I
Get her hot-box high
All in her eye (the ride)
Roll a little weed up for me for me for me (roll it up for me)

[Verse 3: Hitman]
Checkin' my weed mileage, feel like I went ahead
Gonna O.D. up off this shit, don't mean a nigga dead
Can't be a burden on my piff if you don't bring the bread
Especially when I get fed up on you extra heads
I like my bitches red-bone like skeleton
Who let me crash up in that pussy with no settlement
Girl, I'm yo' middle man when you trynna blow
Whether it be my dick or two blunts of dro

[Chorus: Jet 2 w/ Hitman]
She said she want that contact, I
Get her hot-box high
All in her eye (the ride)
Roll a little weed up for me for me for me (roll it up for me)

[Verse 4: Hitman]
We smoked another eighth, but I got no limit
There was a soldier in my lungs, now he's a lieutenant
Stopped smokin' for a day, he was barely livin'
Must have gave a nigga air when I started piffin'
Ain't blowin', you trippin' I got a life to live it
I got that kind of weed you talk about, shout out my critics
And to my fans, 4-20 every day you listen
I want a million of y'all, the kind of shit I'm wishin'

[Chorus: Jet 2 w/ Hitman]
She said she want that contact, I
Get her hot-box high
All in her eye (the ride)
Roll a little weed up for me for me for me (roll it up for me)