Must Be the Ganja
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Yea, (oh, oh), yea yea, oh I feel like dancing I feel like dancing I smell something in the air that's making me (high) I said I smell something in the air that's making me high Ok here we go, do-re-mi-fa-so, I'm so la-di-da so Lyrical rise flow, give back the tobasco You motherfuckers mustsanot know the tic tac songs Time to show you the mo kick ass flow in the cosmos Picasso with a pick axe a sick asshole She tac toe frozen six pack with exacto Knives, strangling wives with pig lasso Few bags of the the grass, zig zags, I'm with the doc so You know how that go, skull and the crossbones This is poison, the boys and girls who do not know You do not want to try this at home my novato (novice) This is niether the time or the place to get macho So crack a six pack, sit back with some nachos Maybe some popcorn, and watch the show and just rock slow It's not what you expected, tho what you thought though Bout time to you wake the f*ck up smell the pot smoke It must be the ganja It's the marijuana That's creeping upon me while I'm so high Maybe it's the hindi that has gotten in me Whatever's gotten into me I don't mind It must be the ganja It's the marijuana That's creeping upon me while I'm so high Maybe it's the hindi that has gotten in me Whatever's got into me I don't mind Your dreams of getting the pill, you are literally getting the chills Spitting at will, me and Dre have just finished splitting a pill You're submitting to skill, sitting still, I'm admitting, I'm beginning to feel Like I don't think anyone's real, Faced with a dilemma, I can be Dali Llama and become a bin gramma a step beyond a Jeffrey Dahmer Please don't upset me mama, you lookin sexy mama, Don't know if this the lala or the rum and pepsi mama Don't want to end up inside my refrigerator freezer, Be used as extra topping the next time I make a pizza How many people you know can name every serial killer who ever existed in a row, Put em in chronological order beginning with Jack the Ripper, Name the time and place from the body the bag the zipper, Location of the woods where the body was dragged and then dumped, The trunk that they were stuffed in, the model the make the plate And which motel which lake they found her in, And how they attacked the victim, Say which murder weapon was used to do what and which one, Which night it was done, what kid would write there was none, So sloppy like this it's fun, the fuckin ecstasy goes It must be the ganja It's the marijuana That's creeping upon me while I'm so high Maybe it's the hindi that has gotten in me Whatever's gotten into me I don't mind When I'm behind a mic dynamite is what it's kinda like Get stuck with that same stick that you're trying to light Behind the boards is Dre, legends are made this way Isn't it safe to say, this is the way it should be? Maybe you need some lyric syrup sign for your symptoms Heres a dosage of the antidote now you give him some, He can give her some, she can give him some Get behind a lynn drum, make up a beat and kill the sucka syndrome You're spitting drama when it comes to lyrics and penance I'm Starting from scratch and then ending up at the end ending up Capable of bringing a bullets a stillunbelievable bullets a Titanium brain that's full of, surprises When the smoke rises right before your very own eyes You stare into your stereos eyes Good evening, this ain't even a weed thing, I ain't even smoke anything, I ain't even drink anything It must be the ganja It's the marijuana That's creeping upon me while I'm so high Maybe it's the hindi that has gotten in me Whatever's gotten into me I don't mind
Written by: ANDRE YOUNG, DAWAUN PARKER, MARK BATSON, TREVOR ANTHONY LAWRENCE, ERICK TODD COOMES, MARSHALL B III MATHERS
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
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