Sour Patch

[Verse 1]
What you got? What you need?
Cut that B.S., puff that weed
Love that tree, yes, cut that green nest
Bud from P.S. One-Eighteen
Then cock it back, pop that football head, then knock it back
Pot in sacks, relax, rebirth, and shake off the ash
Two Swishers on the dash, swerving like we bound to crash
Pounds of hash, spark the match, call this shit a heart attack
Start from scratch, whenever I’m writing I smoke a half a key
Artisan, whatever I’m writing’s a fucking masterpiece
I’m dastardly, a master weaving tapestries then
Roll them up with papyrus, hieroglyphics, smoking that grass in Egypt
Ra, Ra, bitch
Walking around with nugs up in my pocket
Get warped stepping up in the mosh pit
You number two but you not shit
I got this on lock bitch, you probably voting Romney, won’t you?
I’m not evoking tension just probably smoking omnipotent
I take the mic and then I make it a weapon
I’m staying high between O’s like the state that I’m repping

[Hook]
I smoke a pound of grass, tasting like a Sour Patch (x6)

[Verse 2]
Dub sack, blunt wrapped, putting out a ten ton track
Never bust caps, no gun clap, I smoke until my lungs black
Got mad spliffs, take drags, rips
And hits that leave you gobsmacked
Probably we got degrees in botany for
This damn pot stash
Got a bad bitch on my mattress
Actress, said I spit hot raps
She showed me an opening act, chick
Had head game like a top hat
Got fans trying smoke with me, no need to contact a dealer
Smoke a hundred grams out in wonderland on that caterpillar
My rap is realer than these other honey glazed cats
Hate that these trust funders thinking money makes rap
Think that’s all it takes, Jack? Feel like you can burn with me?
I’ll verbally murder these frat rappers for eternity
Suburban teen, crusing to your grandmother's house
To eat a sandwich and smoke down as we dance on the couch
Lamping around with the fam, rolling loud
Snapper trap, bagging up that green I’m mowing down, fancy that