Lyrics High Times - La Coka Nostra, Ill Bill, Slaine

High Times

Yo, I’m like butter in the bottle, easy spraying at those
Dressed in black like a funeral, praying to ghosts
I’m like a thousand Newport’s out the mouth of the trife
A Farragut too short, Billy fuck your mouth with a rifle
Yeah fuck your face with a screwdriver, show me a goon liver
A miracle I ain’t in jail doing a two-fiver
I speak electricity, my words are loose diamonds
String 'em together like Gucci links and used medallions
I take you on a journey
Sometimes I feel like fuck the world, y’all don’t deserve me, fuck you and your
attorney
I drive a hard bargain, into the fire like Don Dokken
Fuck outta here, matter of fact, make it a L.A.R.S rocket
The chopper read a rat, chief popper, Desert Eagle clap
My words will cause the street underneath your feet to crack
Resurrect John Lennon, bring the Beatles back
Resurrect Bob Marley, bring that reefer back
Load the auto-dab with Waxey Gordon, I get so high
I feel like I’m passing Jordan every time I pack a bowl and
Grow my own weed on lands stolen
Cali’s saw with the hashy oil got my lung mad swollen
Smoke out of an apple with The Grateful Dead
Just to s&le cause I wanna tap it through make some bread
(Yeah?) I get my weed from the street instead
Cause I don’t believe with a scrip, you deceive the feds
What the fuck do I know, I’m a marijuano
Used to doing mano-mano in the hood for my dough
Now I’m analytical in the line
La Coka Nostra — Dos like through?
like the mob
I’m a scholar and a gentleman, Cheech &Chong veteran
Complicated hood shit, like Big Sleep’s lettering
Waste italic cause I chase the dragon
Just imagine that the dabbin' and the whisky lace the galley?
I look around and see a bunch of younger me’s with chips
On their shoulders, smokin' weed, no seeds or sticks
Graduated to the yayo for the freezing drips
Stashing burners in their fucking dungarees and whips
Still awake at 7AM and you need your fix
You was booked on a flight but it leaves at six
You were cooked for the night with an easy bitch
That’s the lifestyle of the young and greasy rich
And sleazy it’s all easy til the IRS sees me
I ain’t filed in years and now they starting to seize me
All the debt is in fees enough to make you get queasy
Can’t leave rap alone, I ain’t Wheezy
Resurrect old Slaine, bring the evil back
Resurrect John Lennon, bring The Beatles back
Resurrect Cochran, I need a beat to rap
Trying find my way like it’s hay in a needle stack