Intro:
(*guy toking up*)
Fuckin buddha comin at'cha live
Direct with the biggest, fattest joint
Comin in with indo flavours
Fuckin buddha comin at'cha like this
'95
Verse 1: B-Real
It's Friday mornin', where the weed at?
Let me dip into my pocket for my fat weed sack
Cos I wanna get high like a plane
In the sky with the endo cloud in my brain
Where the fuck are my zig-zags and my lighters?
So I can roll it and set it on fire
Damn, I wish I had scissors cus the shit is so sticky
That it's gettin' on my fuckin' fingers
But it's smokeable, double tokeable
I got the one-hitta quitta, Bombay shit that's tokeable
I wanna do a joint venture
Let me make sure there ain't no lump in the goddamn center
The impregnated lookin' joint, fuck it
I can smoke it and I still get faded
Chorus:
Roll it up, light it up, smoke it up
Inhale exhale
*Repeat x3*
(I'm the freaka, the one freaks the funk
*Repeat*
Verse 2: (Sen Dogg), B-Real
(East Coast hittin' that blunt), West Coast hittin' that honey-dip
Marijuana joint then I want another hit
Roll it up, (light it up), smoke it up
I wanna stimulate my mind (so I toke it up)
Can I get a hit? (Can I get a hooh!?)
Gimme that fat bag of weed and the brew
So I can get faded, elevated
Smoke the joint down to a roach then I ate it
I stand true to the Yesca Mota
(As I keep runnin from the chunta)
Gimme dat weed fool and ya zig-zags
(Puto won't be holdin' out on the big bag)
Chorus
(I'm the freaker, the one who freaks the funk)
*Repeat to fade*
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