Текст песни High Rollers ft. B-Real & Method Man

[B-Real]
I'm in the esco rolling the chris-weed(?)
You know that I'm never ever placing the bush-weed(?)
You know you're on Clowd 9 fucking with me, dude
Be sure that I'm the cushman waiting to see Proof
Some say I'm high on life and I don't need your herbs
Getting high everytime that you speak the words
Well I'm glad, that means more for me, son
And hit the bong so hard, they call me three-lungs
They say that I'm the Budda master, Rock Superstar
You know the homie with the weed laced candy bong
Now I'm blazing it non-stop, you feeling me, fam
You see, everywhere I go it's like Amsterdamn
We blow the smoke in the air, now you smelling my stream
It's the O.G. cush, just clowded your brain
See I'm ready for fo'-twenty mo' hunny's get doe fo' me
All of them Mary, it's scary, they get you most on me

[Chorus - B-Real + (Method Man) + {Proof}]
Hittin' the blunts and bongs
(Puffin' those tree's and leaves)
{Comin' with E and Vic's}
You know what's on tonight
Go let 'em pass the light
Sittin' on top of the world
(Gettin' on top of your girl)
Packin' those bong's and pipe's
{You know what's on tonight}
Go let 'em pass the light

[Proof]
You know your mans Oil Can can be shmill
Won't even finish my drink and thinkin' about re-fills
They got the dro, I'm 'finna roll off these E pills
Now I'm with Proof, got my Methods to B-Real
A retired weed head that need bread for trickin'Proof - High Rollers ft. B-Real & Method Man - http://ru.motolyrics.com/proof/high-rollers-ft-b-real-and-method-man-lyrics.html
Off on a mission to find bitches for sausage lickin'
And gulf them liquids, Henny's and six
I jam like I don't know how to work the Tech
Nine times out of ten, I'm high of the Hen'
Never live for a trend, tryna dive on the bench
Biscuit's is poppin', ain't no stoppin'
Like Hindu's in ???, 'til I find out where Biggie and Pac went
Puffin' or poppin', most often it's gobble
Stackin' my chips high, 'til they auction at Pablo
Pills I swallow, mom don't cry, it's only drugs
Tryna get my minds stuck in the middle of money love
Whaaaat...

(Chorus)

[Method Man]
I semi-automatically spit flows at trash
An' atmoically equiped to rip shows in half
If I speak a lil' fast you get whiplash
Paul Motors(?) better get the kid cash, or get whipped-ass
Got some zig-zags and the dutch, let's get smashed
My lil' ??? bag got more riders than six flags
And while y'all get gased, I'm proceeding to get high
Got weed like Mary J is all on me to get by
Tical, motherfucker, run for cover when shit fly
One hand is on the lot(?) the other hand on your bitch thy
How many wanna try? Mr Meth and his clique, yes
This kinda far fetched like passing a piss test
Okay, let's B-Real, here's the Proof, we need cash flow
Might catch me in the movie lighting up in the back row, fo' sho'
Killer feedback, black, we don't need that
It's fo' twenty on(?) and where the fuck is your weed at?
Infact...

(Chorus)