Lyrics Cure - Berner

Cure

This a quarter-ounce J type of day\nWater risin' in my pine, Bernie 'hind the itchy balm from Dubs\nWe mixin' hash with the buzzin'\nRidin' slow, I’m paranoid with all this cash in my truck\nWatch when you passin' 'em up\nIn the night club, smokin', flickin' ash in my cup\nI need some Z or somethin' new, I’m snobby with the tree\nAnd the wine fridge full of terps, forty-two degrees\nWe poppin' overseas, carry-on full of C’s\nGet harassed when we leave, they runnin' through my thangs\nI’ve been everywhere and back, always bring my own stash\nPay the hotels fees in advance\nI’m smokin' out the van, the driver wants a nug for himself\nUsed to try and chase the bag and now I’m focused on my health\nThey gettin' taxed just to put it on the shelf\nThey might need a better line, they beggin' for my help\nPull this glass out and heat up the nail\nI like 'em low, two pounds, I’m rollin' vibes by the roll\nI’m shootin' dice, I’m on a roll\nI just hit three times in a row\nWe don’t want it when it’s fresh-cut, we want it when the stems snap\nA million bags sold, not a single one sent back\nAnother one rolled, just cracked another fresh pack\nI promise they ain’t smokin' like this\nWe don’t want it when it’s fresh-cut, we want it when the stems snap\nA million bags sold, not a single one sent back\nAnother one rolled, just cracked another fresh pack\nI promise they ain’t smokin' like this\nMy eyes heavy as I take another cold-start\nThe lakehouse feelin' like a scene out the Ozarks\nCandy pack so dark, I can get an extra buck\nIt’s hard to let the mind chill when you really level up\nThey fly from everywhere just to come and smoke one\nTrips to LA, I’ma need to hold one\nWe burnin' 'til we can’t think, I bet I don’t fall asleep\nI came up here to shop and I’ma want 'em cheap\nIndiana Bubblegum with the real cat piss\nRoll another one, I feel like I’m numb\nTwenty years later and still, I’m the one\nWatch my full-term Garm just chill in the sun\nI don’t want it if it ain’t dried right with the cure light\nI told 'em, «This is my time,"but they ain’t hear right\nOnly new-new in my lungs, that shit taste like a plum\nHit it soft, I don’t want it to brown\nWe don’t want it when it’s fresh-cut, we want it when the stems snap\nA million bags sold, not a single one sent back\nAnother one rolled, just cracked another fresh pack\nI promise they ain’t smokin' like this\nWe don’t want it when it’s fresh-cut, we want it when the stems snap\nA million bags sold, not a single one sent back\nAnother one rolled, just cracked another fresh pack\nI promise they ain’t smokin' like this