| You know what time it is
|
| It’s time for a spliff
|
| Give me some cig and some Riz
|
| 'N a surface to work with
|
| You must have a roach on your person
|
| That return train ticket in your purse will be perfect
|
| So hand it over, trust me it will be worth it
|
| I got that sticky-picky head-fucker booker motherfucker
|
| Don’t believe me? |
| Only time will determine
|
| So then I flip it, lick it, stick it, rip, before you even know I’ve lit it
|
| Listen
|
| It’s like spirits are high
|
| But so am I so my spirit is low
|
| And this will keep me content for 40 minutes or so
|
| Of which I spend most of alone
|
| Well not alone, but you know, ‘alone'
|
| Like stoned, alone
|
| Lights on, no one home
|
| Missed calls on my phone, never heard the tone
|
| I’m zoned
|
| I’m in the zone
|
| Tingling tongues tongue-tied biting the lips
|
| I ask a guy for a light to light the side of my spliff
|
| And he says: you can keep it if you get it to work
|
| I get it working, gas first, first time with a smirk
|
| Burn my side burn, tap my ash, a thanks in return
|
| And I think he knew I fancied his bird
|
| I advance to the curb
|
| Grab the taxi, stubbed it out at a third
|
| Now that’s cost me four draws and it hurts
|
| Man i must be a fool like the fourth of the first
|
| I mean the first of the fourth
|
| See this shit’s perverting the course of my thoughts
|
| Cause I don’t think the way I used to think or drink the way I used to drink
|
| You think that’s a coinkidink?
|
| So I arrive and I re-alight
|
| I give the driver a fiver and say: you have a nice night, alright?
|
| Cause you were funny and you didn’t ask for money upfront
|
| Cause anyone who’s bunning a blunt ain’t running for nothing
|
| So I suck in my last blast, dash it and walk in the gaff
|
| Stash a few wraps in the door staff
|
| What can I say?
|
| MDMA pays
|
| That’s why I bring a whole new meaning to putting weight on your waist
|
| And I’m impatient cause waiting’s a waste
|
| I’m not sitting back watching time wasting away
|
| I got bare time wasters all up in my face
|
| And the effects of that last spliff’s fading away
|
| Listen
|
| They say there’s no smoke without fire
|
| Well I’m fire when I smoke so I’m a smoke buyer
|
| It’s really easy swapping six sick sklits for a hit
|
| But not when some thick pricks sticking grit in the shit
|
| Nope
|
| So now the, the good bud boys we know from the north
|
| They wanna shot us two Gs of Blue Cheese for a score
|
| And I’m the type to turn my nose up at 3.4
|
| I shoulda thought of that when the Government warning was launched
|
| But we were warned, we were all warned
|
| We could of stocked up, bought more
|
| We could of bought four and half for 4 or less before the mess
|
| And now it’s that the good weed’s gold
|
| I see people feeling happy paying one-eight an 0
|
| Getting one-eight for an eigth with a big smile on their face
|
| That kid’s just been sorted out by a mate
|
| You know, mates rates
|
| But I’d be lying if I said I ain’t been buying a couple of twos at the blues to
|
| keep my rhyming in line
|
| Like it was fuelling my mind
|
| I keep improving my rhymes
|
| I gave up for four and a half months after the first verse
|
| Yep the first two’s took till just now to write
|
| So if you think I’m smoking now, you’re right
|
| I’m high as a kite
|
| Plus I’m fucking tired man been trying to fight sleep for nights
|
| That’s why daylight never seemed so bright
|
| So I wipe my eyes, build a spliff and reach for a light
|
| And try and peace together what I broke of my life last night
|
| Cause it was live last night
|
| Every man and his man was inside last night
|
| I was fucked and met my boy from work at five past five
|
| Which I find kind of funny cause that’s the same time that I arrived home last
|
| night
|
| Or this morning or whatever you call it
|
| Man’s falling asleep here talking, feeling awfully awkward
|
| So I’m just gonna take a walk to gather my thoughts
|
| And build a spliff before my system aborts
|
| You know what time it is
|
| It’s time for a spliff
|
| Give me some cig and some Riz ‘n a surface to work with
|
| You must have a roach on your person
|
| That empty Rizla packet in your jacket will smack it
|
| So hand it over, rapid, top up my baccy
|
| I got that sticky-bicky head-fucker booker motherfucker
|
| Don’t believe me? |
| Let me wrap up a fatty
|
| So then I flip it, lick it, stick it, rip before you even know I’ve lit it |