| Roll it up nigga, that’s haze right there
 | 
| Let’s get it in the air my dog so I can start my day
 | 
| No need to spray, everybody know I get it high
 | 
| Started at the ripe age of eleven
 | 
| And that first puff was heaven
 | 
| Started off a chain of events
 | 
| And I’ve been blowin' every day since
 | 
| The guacamole
 | 
| I hate a nigga that’s holy and condemn the smoke
 | 
| The here’ll make you choke and bust a super nut
 | 
| You be way up in the gut sharing chromosomes
 | 
| You feelin' me homes? | 
| I’m in love with piff
 | 
| It keep me writing rhymes, it keep my dick real stiff
 | 
| Old Jamaicans call it spliffs, Rasta
 | 
| Apple of my mother’s eye, she think it’s drugs
 | 
| Used to smoke with my uncle Buzz and watch Richard Pryor
 | 
| My eyes red, «You been smokin' son? | 
| You a liar»
 | 
| I burn it down like an L.A. riot, don’t try it
 | 
| I be having niggas stuck and sitting around quiet
 | 
| At the studio or in the hotel
 | 
| I keep them smoke alarms ringing like Rock the Bells
 | 
| I roll a piff like I hold my fifth
 | 
| Steady, clean, and mean, then I smoke that shit
 | 
| I got the murderous flow, I spit sick | 
| I got problems with people I don’t know, I flip quick
 | 
| Niggas wish they could be like me
 | 
| In a royal cypher with Sadat and AG
 | 
| Girls say I smoke a lot, they hate me
 | 
| ‘Cause I stink up their pretty clothes with fake weave
 | 
| Fuck it, I’mma put it up in the air
 | 
| For Big Pun and Dilla, wish you both was here
 | 
| And that’s from the heart nigga, not just talk
 | 
| Yours truly, Junkyard, and I’m live from New York
 | 
| I’m rollin!
 | 
| I gotta do something, I’m addicted to puffin'
 | 
| I say that, when I lay back I don’t wanna do nothin'
 | 
| Hand, bamboo or cigar
 | 
| The pipe or the bong, give me a light and a song
 | 
| Wifey can’t take it no more, said I smoke a lot
 | 
| Want me to stop, damn boo, you choke a lot
 | 
| She keep playin' then I’mma have to ban her
 | 
| Find out that she’s serious, serious as cancer
 | 
| That’s not a game, no putting tumors on my brain
 | 
| I think she’s beefing ‘cause I’m cheating with Mary Jane
 | 
| I’ll stop it boo, mission impossible
 | 
| Far from Ethan Hunt with the green or the skunk
 | 
| Redman told you how to roll a blunt
 | 
| Hang with A I’ll show you how to roll three hundred in a month | 
| MP, consider us greatests
 | 
| That’s Beatnuts, Brand Nubians, and Diggin' in the Crates |