[I dedicate this to buddah...this is our song dedicated to
smokin' weed 'cause we smoke lots of mad weed all the
time...mad mad mad...so Tre Tre since we smoke a lot of
mad weed...you got what you want coppenhagen
give the people buddah...indoe gentlemen...a lovely yell oh
that old boy...you must love the buddah...listen man your
mother's (weed beat) is hip hop...you gotta (scrosho
bard)...man]
trapped in the cockpit
at forty thousand feet
the sky is the limit
but we superscede
the greed for the speed is like
way beyond limits
I grab my parachute with like
forks and spoons in it
and I'm falling
I'm falling
my heart rapid rushes
death before my eyes
oh why did I trust this
my reactions are repeated
over and over and over
oh it seems like I will never be sober
[get up, pack it in...high...I love gettin' high...Im'a get high
'till I die...can I have a light my brother...where is my bud]
the pipe, the pipe
let's pack the pipe
(x4)
I look in every hip-hop magazine
it seems
that the blunts are being passed around the scenes in teams
and the (gomma) man with contraband in lesser amounts
I guess 'cause understands he has his chance passes like Fouts
but his pass is incomplete 'cause I can tell in the smell
to let the touch he pass me by
let the (left) catch hell
if I wanted to smoke tobacco I'd get a skinny white bitch
I know that Fatlip carries a pack to cure the nicotine itch
because the only itch I have is for the indoe or cess
so don't pass me that mess
or try to even protest
that it's adding to the flav
