Skip to content

Rapper Weed

Billy Woods
Popularity ยท Low
๐Ÿ‡ฌ๐Ÿ‡ง English ยท Original

YouTube

Searching YouTube...

Lyrics

Seventy-two degrees and sunny The strain's name was just a string of numbers, blockchain Throw it on the pile with the others, blue flame like the oven Weed lube, weed butter Don't get 'em confused, whatever you do I wasn't rude, but green eggs and ham, I had to refuse Scrawled doodles while the beat loop, slurped noodles outta clear soup Delivery fee is oof My guy, I won't lie, them shit's through the roof Aromatherapy in the stu' with lavender diffused in the booth Tupac with a pressed juice and therapy Tuesdays at two It's a lotta shit negroes shoulda did Not saying I do I don't like shit, stay inside the crib, smoke an oop Nike store on Fairfax don't even sell shoes Made hash when the Gorilla Glue didn't move Celebrity pre-rolls in a monogrammed tube Corked, crushed velvet in the box, embossed Had to find tweezers and a corkscrew After all that, of course, the shit garbage Of course Colorful packaging, pack 'em in Fly like gold on Africans Cover my tracks with backronyms If the track slaps, in the back, you can almost hear the black cackling When it's my time, no need to pass the hat Just throw me in when the fire good and crackling Colorful packaging, pack 'em in Fly like gold on Africans Cover my tracks with backronyms If the track slaps, in the back, you can almost hear the black cackling When it's my time, no need to pass the hat Just throw me in when the fire good and crackling Whole entourage on the couch, buried in they phones He said it's six Gs an ounce, I played it off Waited the appropriate amount of time to bounce The burgers was In-N-Out Sheepherder prophecies spilling out my mouth Bagseeds in a pouch Rappers bloated with gout Sores weeping, doubled over Chest heaving from chasing clout Still super chiefin', but it's hard to trust Like your money in a growhouse that always barely breaks even Colorful packaging, pack 'em in Fly like gold on Africans Cover my tracks with backronyms If the track slaps, in the back, you can almost hear the black cackling When it's my time, no need to pass the hat Just throw me in when the fire good and crackling Colorful packaging, pack 'em in Fly like gold on Africans Cover my tracks with backronyms If the track slaps, in the back, you can almost hear the black cackling When it's my time, no need to pass the hat Just toss me in when the fire good and crackling