| Inhale an L of elevation vegetation
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| Out the one-hitter and exhale a spell of medication
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| Get the case in the front gate for drunk dates
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| And cheap scents synonymous with D-list celebrations
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| The smell of cocktails be hella' abrasive
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| Still I never felt the belch my name is Stella Factious
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| The flyest accommodations of hotel arrangements
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| Still bleaching the scent of reefer out they elevators
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| I’m in the hooka lounge, lounging with the hooka, hacking through the clouds
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| Poolside taco meat scatter with my belly hanging
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| Celly ringing, voicemail be banging off the chain
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| Never check 'em though, it’s probably better if your text contain it
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| So many lost hotel keys the front desk complaining
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| I’m in the complementary robe, stanky legging
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| With my necklace hanging, chest neck
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| Carti framing like a westside seven native
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| And this is either Sour Diesel or I’m levitating
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| The Hermes really burn em' sunny no more speculation
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| Wasting, Crown Nation, the explanation
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| When your favorite rappers acting like next debatin Satan
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| Peel back this blunt rap and use the straw that maintain it to sip
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| The something strong with something carbonated
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| Outfits like a prom occasion
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| Bishop Don slash Russell Simmons sneakers with the blazer blazin
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| Smoked out flicks got an albino filter fans thinking we Vybz Kartel and
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| Federline co-gellin
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| All city, in all cities
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| Hadouken some broads suplex is all you gets
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| Brain-dead, geeked out, stupid, stupid fresh I’m funky
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| In a sang hubris
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| Who the fuck you frauds pluggin you a funk thuggin'
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| Get the steppin like Tommy and Cole buggin'
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| That’s what I call a cold dozen
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| Flip on the gas and open up that closed oven
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| Turn on that trash we likely to throw somethin'
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| Pay us in cash and act like you know somethin'
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| Smokin' on (fascinating grass)
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| Feelin' like I’m smokin' on some
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| Feelin' like I’m lifted off that
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| Feelin' like I’m burnin' down some
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| Get lifted off
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| Moët Chandon the don of dons
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| Thousand dollar Mont Blanc when I write songs
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| Buy nice cars
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| Life was hard
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| I wasn’t dealt nice cards
|
| My scars require more than Tiger Balm (ow)
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| A new blue Mercedes can maybe cure your diabetes
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| A bag dime pieces in Prada beanies
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| And Buscemis who you think you Houdini?
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| I’m here in the flesh, still wonder who can see me
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| Still a show, steal your ho don’t think I won’t?
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| Send her home smellin' like hotel soap
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| You tellin' jokes round grown folk
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| Your raps like Adobo bro daddy I’m not your average Joe Blow
|
| Sling blow for cheese Veuve Clicquot
|
| I’m covered in gold I feel like C-3PO
|
| Covered in gold I feel like C-3PO
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| What you talking you playboy
|
| Ain’t shit sweet though
|
| Outside of murdering beats, I know a few cutthroats
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| Strawberry D Smoke, that’s all she want
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| I told her shut the fuck up, and suck a nigga dick or somethin'
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| We’re top notch, overlord of the weed spot
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| With his moon roof open blowin' pot
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| Wallaby Clarks
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| 96 style, frontin' in the B-Boy stance like I was Run or somethin' (run)
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| The mic killer, the money getter
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| Nigga roll somethin'
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| It’s the return of the Deacon speakin' what the fuck they want (preach)
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| Bitch
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| You ain’t got nothin' on the rich
|
| Every four bars a nigga whole style switch
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| Polo sports basics, getting lifted, it’s wasted
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| Baby, tell your mans learn to bag first and then get money
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| A simple assignment you crash test dummies
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| This is complex rhymin' homie
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| Sour Diesel smoke, got the smell all on me
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| Great clouds in the whip, bad bitch all on me
|
| You know the click spit slick Crown Nation homie
|
| homie, till the days end
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| And the days end, hell blazin', it’s amazin', raise up
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| Smokin' off
|
| Feelin' like I’m smokin' off some
|
| Feelin' like I’m lifted off that
|
| Feelin' like I’m burnin' down some
|
| Get lifted off
|
| Get lifted off
|
| Get lifted off
|
| Get lifted off
|
| Wait, what the fuck am I supposed to say in this? |
| He told me — he said some
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| shit about like… being you is great, I wish I could be you more often, y’know?
|
| Keep your eyes out |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Fascinating Grass , by - Big ToneSong from the album Being You Is Great, I Wish I Could Be You More Often, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп