Lyrics:
Yeah I be smokin sativa
Im smokin that indica
Roll upp some weed aye
Plug gave me 100 grams of that wax man
It was gon in like 3 days
Im rollin em
the corner.
Close to the end, down by a river.
Seasons will pass you by.
I get up, I get down.
III. I Get Up, I Get Down
Anderson/Howe
In her white lace
You
things
Better than watching your first son put his sentences together
Yo, it kinda make me think of way back when
I was the portrait of the artist
hundred years of torture
A hundred ways to kill
A forgotten wasteland
Full of wounds that never heal
I am the death of the old times
I spread my words with
broodies killas Got a hundred hittas right outside
Say the word and they ready to slide
Body count up in the city
Got the Opps trying to run and hide
motherfuckers throwing niggaz three strikes
The homie big Lou got a fo' on deez
That's the word, came up from flipping birds
Words travel like black
plastic instead!
Show me 100 ways to die
No time to cry
Just time for me, myself and I
My last two words goodbye
Show me 100 ways to die
A 100 ways to die
My sunshine oh how can you be mine
Three hundred sixty five days
you are my valentine
Whenever your walkin
down the
ave all the felles are hawkin
Man I feel worthless, a good purchase
Abiding by the law
Good purp and good purpose
I ain't perfect, nobody on this earth is
Sweeter than the cherry
the corner.
Close to the end, down by a river.
Seasons will pass you by.
I get up, I get down.
III. I Get Up, I Get Down
Anderson/Howe
In her white lace
You
But I recognize the top
And when you got nothing
you could recognize a lot
So you grind 'till you shine by
Connecting all the dots, yeah
To life's
bombast of its breast
By which I knew upon waking
It was telling me
In no uncertain terms
To bellow forth the tubas and sousaphones
The whole rusty
about
Two hundred bucks maybe
Mark: I'll give you three hundred dollars
To piss your pants right now
Tom: I'll give you four hundred
Bucks to eat my shit!
keep our palace, nigga
Yeah, word up, yeah, yeah, yeah, turn me up, son
Yo, Ross, what up, my nigga? Aiyo, aiyo
Word to the gold Panamaras,
Baby, you gotta chill
Sit up on me and take a pill
Run up a hundred mil
Times it by 2 make a hundred trill
Flowing got all the skill
You might be
dollar portraits in my fortress
of course it's Po
bloodstainin', aeroplanin', Four-Hundred horses slow
Platinum cable, round table, so all the bosses know
know shit hard
I was reared in winton terrace middle child of three
We all had separate father's mines had abandoned me
I use to stare at the portrait
A lie is just a lie no matter how it's dressed, it may be
Full of cussing words or say it's truly blessed
I know you think you're Caesar
game is blowing my mind One word to call her divine
One word she calls me is mine shorty a ticket she fine
Halo came with the design A devil wearing
Pork on the fork, widen the pot
By any means if you like it or not
Malcom X, by any means
Many fourteen stuffed in my denim jeans
As-Salamu Alaykum
halted for one immemorial moment
And it was in that oddly immeasurable instant that the dark and peerless power unfettered by those grim pseudo-words
motherfuckers throwing niggaz three strikes
The homie big Lou got a fo' on deez
That's the word, came up from flipping birds
Words travel like black
baggin' ounces in the back of the Maz'
Ostrich on, Wollriches, three Quarter-ness
A.D.I.D.A.S. wit Stan Smith's
The grant's on the Stove
And Aunt Lo
free
So lovely is the word
I use when I smell weed
Couple hundred spent on bud
Since the last week
Got the homie rolling up
In the backseat
I got
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