Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Blow Your Smoke, artist - Jim Jones. Date of issue: 06.10.2010
Song language: English
Blow Your Smoke |
| This one is dedicated from Harlem to all ya’ll |
| This goes out from the streets of Harlem to everywhere |
| Blow ya smoke |
| And if you ride high, puts your lighters up in the air |
| Blow ya smoke |
| I’m blowin smoke with my top back |
| I got my gun on me top that |
| She started pressin buttons I told her stop that |
| Can’t front I was watching where them cops at |
| The sun is out, my wrist rocked out |
| I miss all my niggas locked out |
| So I roll a blunt for the good times |
| We was just in the slums like «Good Times» |
| Keep a bad bitch like Malona |
| Me and Dev was doing henny and coronas |
| Getting money hustle hard they was on us |
| And we still poor liqour for the goners |
| We blow smoke like we blow money |
| It’s no joke but it’s so funny |
| She ate me up and said «it's so yummy» |
| The niggas sho hate but the hoes love me |
| Spend a couple G’s on my bitches purse |
| Lookin at the screen as I hit reverse |
| Lightin up backin out of Neman’s |
| My jewlery loud like it’s screaming |
| And when the last time you seen him? |
| Shootin past, something fast, european |
| Capital B on the gear shifta |
| No breeze from the ceilin let the air hit ya |
| I’m god blessed like a Prayor scripture |
| Lord knows tryna make it up there with ya |
| Until then I light one up |
| Stay strapped in case a nigga wanna run up |
| I’m still watched by rap police |
| They still search me in the club like I’m strapped with heat |
| Might catch me pumpin out in backstreets |
| I might be diggin out yo broad in the backseat… fucker |
| I just wanna smoke trees in a safe place |
| But when I do that I get a court case |
| I get a P.O. |
| who’s an asshole |
| I get bum smokers, always low on doe |
| I get cussed out by my mom and them |
| Changin all the locks, won’t let me in |
| I get cotton mouth, I get a bad rep, |
| I get a book tellin me to take twelve steps |
| Smokin on some refa, gettin on my Wiz khalifa |
| Had my teachers concerned real talk |
| But to preach what I was taught |
| Master your high and learn to skywalk |
| Life too short ain’t got no reset |
| So do what you want, not what they expect |
| And in the meantime Clockin hella checks |
| While you fly real high on them paper jets fool |
| Real dreams come true |