lirik lagu hurricaine smoke – thugz mansion
[intro]
[verse 1: van gar v]
time to clock into my job like clockwork and i’ll probably bring my glock in my hoodie, like glock-shirt
i’d rather be at school, you’re lucky
responsibilities suck
wish i was in school still but f-ck it
“gar v, take a cool pill, chill the f-ck out. you down in the dumps?”
nah man, i’m just sick of the c-nts so i let the c-ke b-mps thrill
told uma thurman to k!ll herman and k!ll bill
maybe if i’m lucky, my ill will will return to seal the deal
tortured soul, tormented, demented, disturbed
plenty of synonyms that meant mentally sick
thesaurus; sick
i meant dope like the chronic
i want it loud like the effects of an atomic bomb leaving evidence you were vaporized
this song seeming clever ever since you realized three eyes better than one
ever since you got into rap, stole a beat, jot some rhymes on your ipad like ‘smoke weed, sell crack, trap, trap, trap!”
and you actually think it’s “not bad” right?
so you light up again on replay, thinkin’ it’s mad tight
rope around your neck, hope you keep your balance or it’s goodnight
fall to the ground, get impaled on a lance
tryna’ get away?
feed you an ounce of lanceata
get up if you can, it’s your chance to run
you better
[chorus: van gar v]
hold up, smoke
pull up, smoke
roll up, smoke
light up, smoke
yeah we like, smoke
yeah we like, smoke, smoke
[verse 2: van gar v]
“my fingertips stuck together”
i know, unknown, mine too
this oil glue and my wax never spoil
my weed sever soil, grow, turnover and my burner set on low boil
the weather’s nice, let’s hope it stays loyal
foil the plot, glocks c-cked with duct tape
caution tape perimeter
watchin’
you littered in sweat
get better
better p-ss me the dab rig and p-ss me a d-mn cig
my d-mn head’s ringin’
“gar v, what ya smokin’ that shit for?”
i don’t know, unknown, i asked for the bong and didn’t get it
“you been sittin’ there 5 minutes, you hadn’t said shit”
i guess i’m just hearin’ shit is it
“you’re cooked”
but i haven’t even hit it
ok i’ll quit it
“then put that shit the f-ck out”
still lost from last night’s lucy
cost; my music
traded my soul to lucifer for rap and acid
he sold it for crack
claim you trip but that juice tastes bad
shit like a bitter spitter nbome tab
“take this shit, you’ll feel godly”
yo b-tch already call me hercules, lickin’ on her circular fine titties
got methylphen diabetes
i’m done takin’ insulin
pr-ck my finger to check my blood
i need me some ritalin
flick my fingers again, the roach land in the ashtray
on the couch with mad green on my plate, shit a cash-tray
last plate was enough
this stuff you ain’t seen
you faint then green out while gar v roll up another
you been shoutin’ for air
“open the door, i can’t breathe in here!”
steer clear deer, hard drugs, cans of beer
at shows handin’ out hugs and dancin’
f-ck that man, my game thugz mansion
lampin’ so long like gar v steady campin’
lambs 151
the one filthy one
i don’t doubt there be others after me
there be mothers after me and boys in blue, it’s true
you’re just noise
draw from the deck, i pull your card
worldstar got you full-out actin’ hard
[chorus: van gar v]
hold up, smoke
pull up, smoke
roll up, smoke
light up, smoke
yeah we like, smoke
yeah we like, smoke, smoke
[verse 3: van gar v]
“you wanna starve gar v?”
not really so me and walt got a batch cookin’ in the rv
you’re salt, leech
that means you’re dead
led lesson teach you, no words were said
cocaine session got my nose drippin’ red
catch you slippin’, wesson catch your head
fed up, f’ed up, so i fled the f-ckin’ scene
public intoxication means nothin’ to me
public enemy
shock my lungs with oxygen, c-ck my gun and it’s back to cookin’ rocks again
spit more than a 12-year-old smoker on the precinct lawn
12 beer, ganja smoker
need more than a toke, jokin’ me?
i smoke a whole tree alone, just potent green
must be totin’ g’s
yeah total g’s totin’ o’s
at your dealers door lookin’ for half g’s, he’s throwin’ ’em bows
lemme show ya, watch
half gram only cost 5 coins and it only roll half a d-mn joint
point of the moral of the story; why you hear stories of your daughter giving oral at the glory hole for weed
she’s wh-r-y, not sorry
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