| Nigga how you feel comin’out that project nigga
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| To these E-States and floatin on these million dollar yahts
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| Smokin these thousand dollar Marlboro’s
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| You gotta roll that weed nigga let it burn
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| Bust then burn nigga wait yo' turn
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| Roll it up I’m smokin
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| Roll it up I’m chokin
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| We got weed in the mornin', weed for the homies
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| Weed in the back of the Coupe I been smokin my nigga
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| I went from G’s and thieves nigga
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| We blowin the weed my nigga-fuckin wit freaks nigga (hot boys)
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| I’m in that Bentley Coupe nigga
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| From Shine On video to six foot shorty too my nigga
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| And yeah we headed up town nigga
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| Blow after pound my niggas puttin it down nigga
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| And yeah ridin big is my crown nigga
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| Holdin my rounds nigga-holdin my town my nigga (believe that)
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| To be the boss that I be nigga
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| And smoke weed everyday of the week nigga
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| On Stunna Island nigga fuckin with them G niggas
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| We gettin money everyday of the week nigga
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| It’s fast money nigga-Cash Money made me
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| We blow that purple everyday in my city streets
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| I’m headed to Stunna Island it’s lovely over there
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| Sand in my toes feel the breeze in my hair
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| In the two piece Chenell shades and the (??)
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| Chenell beach bags where I keep the weed stash
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| And I ain’t gotta tell you what the ice like
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| Mothafucker this is Cash Money you know what the life like
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| You smoke what you can, we smoke what we want
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| It’s never back yard boogy, straight stock yard funk
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| The higher ponic chronic, blueberry, and white russian
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| Get it by the block it ain’t open for discussion
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| I ain’t touchin and puffin nothin give me a charge
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| I’m float with the cloud above and then go with the stars
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| Blow dro with my girl Venus on the way to Mars
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| They say you need a ship but niggas get there in they cars
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| Uhhhh we smoke out till we choke out
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| I’m clearin my throat and I’m at it again my nigga no doubt
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| I took a half a block, gettin my ice box for freshness
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| Got half the block complainin how loud the stench is
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| Pewhheeeee pimpin (??)purple or blue, white widow
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| Cause after a few hits ya through
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| Can’t get no realer then 6 Shot baby
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| Hot like a smokin tree baby you think I’m crazy
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| Keep the windows foggy in the black Harley
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| Puffin on Bob Marley the sticky ick-no seeds and sticks
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| Gotta love it bout the size of ya finger
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| Get a light nigga this one’s a banger fuckin right
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| Got that light green, red, orange, yellow
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| Got that strawberry, large cherry, bubble gum, vanilla wrap
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| You ever ask a nigga bout me
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| Cause them hoes know Shot blows guns 7 days a week
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| Huh picture I’m an O. G
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| From a gram, to a quarter, to a half, to a whole Ki |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Smoke Out , by - Birdman. Song from the album Fast Money, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп