Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Joint, artist - Kottonmouth Kings. Album song High Society, in the genre ПопDate of issue: 31.12.1999
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Capitol
Song language: English
The Joint |
| Yo, you gots the joint? |
| Nah, I got the joint |
| Yo, who’s got the joint? |
| We all got the joint |
| We all on point, we all on point |
| Yo, you gots the Joint? |
| Nah, I got the joint |
| Where and when, it probably fell out your ear |
| I’ma look behind the couch, finding all kinds of shit |
| Hair pins, erasers, crumbled up pieces of paper |
| Broken pagers, and a half pack of grits |
| Cuz I slipped on my floor walking up the stairs |
| Could still be camouflaged, hidin' in my hair |
| Behind my ear nestled in the back, but it ain’t |
| I know because I checked, I’m still searchin' for the dank |
| You probably threw it out with your old pack of cigarettes |
| Look in the trash can, your as high as you get |
| Sometimes you forget, smokin' one to many hits |
| About to look in my caddy, down the walkway bricks |
| I jumped out the screen door, mac light in hand |
| Searchin' down the sidewalk, leadin' to my van |
| I hit the alarm and the door just slides |
| I check from front to back and side to side |
| Then I let the Alpine play |
| Got the 6 disc changer, read-out display |
| Called my boy Dave, who gets paid to skate |
| Bling, hello, I think it fell by your gate |
| Well it’s not in my van, so I checked my jeep |
| Limited edition 4×4 with leather seats |
| Looked in the ashtray and only found a roach |
| I was so fuckin' high I forgot that we had smoked |
| Yo, you gots the joint? |
| Nah, I got the joint |
| Yo, who’s got the joint? |
| We all got the joint |
| We all on point, we all on point |
| Yo, you gots the Joint? |
| Nah, I got the joint |
| I got the joint, but you ain’t gonna smoke it |
| Come around get cloudy, it disappeared like hokus pokus |
| King klick tokas, royalty smokers |
| Come around it disappears like hokus pokus |
| I’m gettin' amped up, in different states of mind |
| I hit a depth for a track as I prepare my rhyme |
| Sometimes I’m real high, besides I don’t lie |
| Look at all these phony people tryin to make supply |
| Yeah, you sly in your flashy suits |
| You sellouts get the fuck outta here, bail out |
| I sag my jeans, rock hemp and (??) |
| I got a 85 caddy, give a fuck about the billboard |
| You live at large with your three car garage |
| Your Ferrari, BM, and Lamborgini coutures |
| I smoke hard, blow large, keep you guessin |
| Up in the treehouse, like a bird, nestin |
| Loungin, you’ll be amazed how I’m steppin |
| It’s a blessin, lookin' over my ground |
| Eyes like a owl head, rotates around |
| 360 degrees in a circle |
| Yo, you gots the joint? |
| Nah, I got the joint |
| Yo, who’s got the joint? |
| We all got the joint |
| We all on point, we all on point |
| Yo, you gots the Joint? |
| Nah, I got the joint |
| Yo I got the joint and it’s rolled with precision |
| Precisely sliced in the ends, surgical incisions |
| It’s like religion, my blunt rollin' routine |
| It’s a process, and yet it comes guaranteed, by me (by who?) |
| Motherfuckin' Johnny Richter |
| If you lay on the work then call me Johnny the evictor |
| To play with my money is to play with my emotions |
| Like tokens in Vegas, your ass is cash |
| I got incredible dank, as it lingers out the chamber |
| Mind blowin smoke, unbelievable taste |
| Jack frost have you lost, seeing stars in space |
| Laced up to the moon, Pluto, then Neptune |
| The earth is greenest, smokin' bong loads in Venus |
| The rings of Saturn gettin' lost in space |
| Homebase it the place we blaze the most weed |
| I gots the joint is the bomb ass (??) |
| Yo, you gots the joint? |
| Nah, I got the joint |
| Yo, who’s got the joint? |
| We all got the joint |
| We all on point, we all on point |
| Yo, you gots the Joint? |
| Nah, I got the joint |
| Just a player with the big hair, baby (??) five |
| Still bumpin, getting high, constantly red eyed |
| 12−28, full of bitches inside |
| 1605, where the homies reside |
| We fly, first class, with the (??) |
| Rockin' vertebrae (??) wallet chains on their hips |
| Saggin' jeans, DCs, pocket full of weed |
| I got what you want, tell me what you need |
| And I’ll proceed to bust out the pounds and break em down |
| Got connection to PC, Cali, and Chi-Town |
| Whether up north, down south, or the inbetween |
| Red, purple, orange, or the lizard green |
| I got the joint but you ain’t gonna smoke it |
| Come around, get cloudy, it disappeared like hokus pokus |
| King klick tokas, royalty smokers |
| Come around, it disappears like hokus pokus |
| Yo, who’s that peepin' in my window? |
| Hope it’s not a po-po |
| Cuz then they gonna see my crops |
| I got the joint but you ain’t gonna smoke it |
| Come around, get cloudy, it disappeared like hokus pokus |
| King klick tokas, royalty smokers |
| Come around, it disappears like hokus pokus |
| Back wall hydroponic system, stealthy position |
| With couple thousand watts |
| I got the joint but you ain’t gonna smoke it |
| Come around, get cloudy, it disappeared like hokus pokus |
| King klick tokas, royalty smokers |
| Come around, it disappears like hokus pokus |