Smoke DZA - Bamma Weed lyrics

Nigga, I'm high off living, do what you do

Live how you live, hold your opinion

Probably cough into a coma if you hit that bowl

God bless the man if he just that bold

You don't do it like we do, nah, we don't believe you

You niggas on that K2, we smoking sour diesel

Kushed God, bitch, nigga chief like Katonah

Flow bonkers, been fly since Tonka

Contraband left on my dresser

Bagged up, got extras, more bread to get up

I hustle, I ain't letting up

These wild niggas sleep, money still printing up

So I be Zombie status

With my Zombie niggas, getting all this cabbage

Kushed God in the physical, Smokers Club original

Members are minimal

Don't give me no bammer weed

We don't smoke that shit in the N.Y.C

Lucy in the sky with diamonds, feeling vibrant

Close your eyelids, the glorious dead arrive with

DZA, we stay high, stoned, and stay fly

Three grams for breakfast, hash wax for seconds

My reflection, the force to be reckoned, but my direction

These niggas awkwardly threaten, don't need a weapon, this menace

Spark that leaf [?] with a ounce of top shelf chilling, top peeling

All about that green, nigga, can you hear me?

Same nigga on the block, serving grams, getting knots

Wha-what? What you thought, you was smoking that good?

I got a sack of dour and that wax is hitting proper

Dusty Rhodes, elbows dropper, only smoke them if they proper

The dondada, pussy popper, show stopper

Z-O-M-B bitch

Don't give me no bammer weed

We don't smoke that shit in the N.Y.C

We them top notch marijuan coppers

O.G. a dour, make sure it's proper

Not swagger, but effervescence, some say that sex is a weapon

Keep shorty around like she pregnant

Since I have no filter on the blunts, I have no filter on my mouth

Fuck the living, we are dead, I smoke the marley like the dreads

Rude boy, choose I, lick a shot, choose I

I am on that new high, I'm just trying to boost mine

Spanish mamis say my eyes rojo, don't call po-po

I'm rolling solo, dank, buddha, ain't a thing to you

Eyes closed, Bush, got me singing songs to you

So what's wrong with you, not getting along with you

We should live it a little, smoke trees, fuck all my enemies

Since all my niggas are smoking good, my bitch turned Hollywood

My niggas are riding good, take a pull of the chronic cough

Making you lose your composure so you could hardly talk

DZA got 'em, spark the lighter up

Not dividing us, nigga, you ain't as high as us

Don't give me no bammer weed

We don't smoke that shit in the N.Y.C

We them top notch marijuan coppers

O.G. a dour, make sure it's proper