Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Where's The Weed At, artist - Kottonmouth Kings. Album song Greatest Highs, in the genre Поп
Date of issue: 14.01.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Compilation
Song language: English
Where's The Weed At |
Where’s the weed at?, yo, where’s the weed at? |
It’s in my backpack, but you can’t touch that |
Where’s the weed at?, yo, where’s the weed at? |
I need to take a rip, quick, tell me where the weed’s at |
Where’s the weed at?, yo, where’s the weed at? |
You know I’m holding, always knowing where the weed’s at |
So where’s the weed at?, yo, where’s the weed at? |
Somebody’s gotta know where the muthafuckin weed’s at |
It’s harvest time I’m in my prime blowing hella smoke |
I got the mountain side growing going out for broke |
We got them hillsides saturated Koast II Koast |
I got a sack in my sock and an ounce in my coat |
I got a fat blunt in the case of my guitar |
I got the flavor of the month chilling in a jar |
I got that white house garden presidential suite |
I got that NASA spaceship THC |
I got some weed in my garage, under my bathroom sink |
It’s in my icebox, living room by my TV |
I got a nug on my desk, and in my dresser drawer |
And when I’m rolling low my hidden stash is in the floor |
Further more I got some back-up underneath the stairs |
On a airplane flight I’m stashed down in my underwear |
Wrapped in my sweaty balls, that’s why I’m flying high |
You wanna take a lick trick, taste the good life? |
Want to know where the weed’s at? |
Well I’ll give you a hint |
Just follow the scent rising out of my tint |
Or flowing out of the vents in a Linc' Continent' |
Or my drop Cadillac ‘cause I done did it again |
I packed a blunt in the wind I’m leaving holding my lid |
I only need five pounds but fucking call and get ten |
Getting control of those ends, blowing smoke like the wind |
I’m back to rolling in my bus, don’t even let me begin |
‘Cause when I’m in it I’m in but when I’m out it I’m out |
These cats I knew from back when still got it popping no doubt |
I call a fifty a fin and the lair is my house |
My number one rule there’s don’t show up unannounced |
Ya gotta call before you roll through, get the all cool |
I might be like, wait up yo I’ll call you |
Cause no one knows what Johnny Richter’s got crackin |
But when it’s crackin' you can tell ‘cause I pick up like «what's crackin?' |
And you ask |
I got the bomb weeds you know I’m blowing hella tokes |
I got the good shit that leave you laid up on the floor |
I got them krypt nugs I got them big sacks |
I got the type a bud that kicks you in your fucking ass |
I got the type a weed that make you want to bug out |
Without a doubt the type o shit that get you drugged out |
We getting supa high |
We getting supa ripped |
We putting it down for all the weed smoking cliques |
So where’s the weed at I need to roll a blunt |
Pull that shit back, fill it up, don’t front, lick it up, stick it, burn it |
Smoke it to the butt, finish that shit then roll another one up so |