| Just chief the roach blunt fresh out the nest tryna relax
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| When I walk in see the DJ siftin' through wax
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| Take off the Walkman, jump in Snoop’s early years
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| Elevated, appreciating what all these girlies wear
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| Don’t touch I remind self as it happened
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| Man I wish I had paid actors for re-enactment
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| My beautiful sky he dropped grey skies on it
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| And you miss and sigh (?) i call it a high moment
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| Cause the dj, he play the same lame song for the 5th damn time
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| Wax that you couldn’t sell on eBay
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| Tried to pull a chick outside, guess what she say
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| «That's my song playin'» with a pea brain
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| Well while y’all dance in inebriated trance imma hit the parkin' lot and try to
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| come up on an amp
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| Cause imma be damned if I party with zombies
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| Back to my Walkman and the bitch that always calms me, smoke
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| I’m so high in the sky-high-high-high
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| I don’t know and I just don’t care for what they’re playin'(x2)
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| Well my fifths mean, kicks clean, herbs in my jeans
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| High as my pop and his pop, so birds in my genes
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| And fly since strictly hip hop (?), no words in between
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| So I walk in, get change
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| Just caught the shift change
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| From DJ whats his name to DJ sedative time
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| Who turned the cloud I sat on into a negative 9
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| Blendin' retro with techno, on top of a lets go echo
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| While chicks lick their lips at me but won’t show me they breasts though
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| My buds in a street fight, with stray cats and a soundtrack and i’m losin'
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| I slumber the racks on the back of a twotip that I’m usin'(?)
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| While I watch these cop-connoisseurs confuse it with music
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| Get drunk hit the dance floor and abuse it
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| Just to think I, paid to get baked today
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| Then in an odd way paid these fuckers to take it away
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| Now, fuck it i’m out so, that’s okay
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| Like the half assed blunt I got stashed in the back of my ashtray
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| Feel me? |
| (bitch)
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| I’m so high in the sky-high-high-high
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| I don’t know and I just don’t care for what they’re playin'(x2) |