[I dedicate this to buddah...this is our song dedicated to

smokin' weed 'cause we smoke lots of mad weed all the

time...mad mad mad...so Tre Tre since we smoke a lot of

mad weed...you got what you want coppenhagen

give the people buddah...indoe gentlemen...a lovely yell oh

that old boy...you must love the buddah...listen man your

mother's (weed beat) is hip hop...you gotta (scrosho

bard)...man]

trapped in the cockpit

at forty thousand feet

the sky is the limit

but we superscede

the greed for the speed is like

way beyond limits

I grab my parachute with like

forks and spoons in it

and I'm falling

I'm falling

my heart rapid rushes

death before my eyes

oh why did I trust this

my reactions are repeated

over and over and over

oh it seems like I will never be sober

[get up, pack it in...high...I love gettin' high...Im'a get high

'till I die...can I have a light my brother...where is my bud]

the pipe, the pipe

let's pack the pipe

(x4)

I look in every hip-hop magazine

it seems

that the blunts are being passed around the scenes in teams

and the (gomma) man with contraband in lesser amounts

I guess 'cause understands he has his chance passes like Fouts

but his pass is incomplete 'cause I can tell in the smell

to let the touch he pass me by

let the (left) catch hell

if I wanted to smoke tobacco I'd get a skinny white bitch

I know that Fatlip carries a pack to cure the nicotine itch

because the only itch I have is for the indoe or cess

so don't pass me that mess

or try to even protest

that it's adding to the flav