Smoke DZA, Flatbush Zombies - Bamma Weed lyrics

[Smoke DZA, Flatbush Zombies - Bamma Weed lyrics]

Nigga, I'm high off living, do what you do
Live how you live, hold your opinion
Probably cough into a coma if
You hit that bowl
God bless the man if he just that bold
You don't do it like we do, nah
We don't believe you
You niggas on that K2, we smoking sour diesel
Kushed God, bitch, nigga chief like Katonah
Flow bonkers, been fly since Tonka
Contraband left on my dresser
Bagged up, got extras, more bread to get up
I hustle, I ain't letting up
These wild niggas sleep
Money still printing up
So I be Zombie status with my Zombie niggas
Getting all this cabbage
Kushed God in the physical
Smokers Club original members are minimal

Don't give me no bammer weed


We don't smoke that shit in the NYC
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Feeling vibrant close your eyelids
The glorious dead arrive with
DZA, we stay high, stoned, and stay fly
Three grams for breakfast
Hash wax for seconds
My reflection, the force to be reckoned
But my direction
These niggas awkwardly threaten, don't
Need a weapon, this menace
Spark that leaf with a ounce
Of top shelf chilling, top peeling
All about that green, nigga, can you hear me?
Same nigga on the block, serving grams
Getting knots wha-what? What you thought
You was smoking that good?
I got a sack of dour and
That wax is hitting proper
Dusty Rhodes, elbows dropper
Only smoke them if they proper
The dondada, pussy popper, show stopper
Z-O-M-B bitch

Don't give me no bammer weed
We don't smoke that shit in the NYC
We them top notch marijuan coppers
OG a dour, make sure it's proper

Not swagger, but effervescence
Some say that sex is a weapon
Keep shorty around like she pregnant
Since I have no filter on the blunts
I have no filter on my mouth
Fuck the living, we are dead
I smoke the marley like the dreads
Rude boy, choose I, lick a shot, choose I
I am on that new high
I'm just trying to boost mine
Spanish mamis say my eyes rojo
Don't call po-po
I'm rolling solo, dank, buddha
Ain't a thing to you eyes closed, Bush
Got me singing songs to you
So what's wrong with you
Not getting along with you
We should live it a little, smoke trees
Fuck all my enemies
Since all my niggas are smoking good
My bitch turned Hollywood
My niggas are riding good
Take a pull of the chronic cough
Making you lose your composure so
You could hardly talk
DZA got 'em, spark the lighter up
Not dividing us, nigga
You ain't as high as us

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