Smoke DZA, Bluntsmoker, Ty Dolla $ign - Pass Off lyrics

Right
Call up a uba, let's get out of this bitch
They like, "Man, you always steaming
Bro?" I'm tired of this shit
Ain't no way on this green Earth I
Can get high off this cliff
You a fuckin' buddah head
You gon' die off this shit
That's a fuss answer, wrong drug dummy
That's a dust answer
Gamers have an appetite
But it's forever fuck cancer
Double L R varsity with the black panther
Hate a weed scientist actin' like
That shit is that danker
Too much, thinkin' about it too much
Okay Sampha pet-peevin' that anger
Lash out on poor strangers
God damn it, another, she screamin'
She probably hoarse
Asking if I mess with whores
Nigga left that pussy sore
Wrong turn, fuck around catch a charley horse
Smokin' personal, she like
"It's 'bout time you cough"

Wake up, count my money
Hundreds, fifties, twenties
Rollin' up the dank pass her to the homie
Wake up, count my money
Hundreds, fifties, twenties
We don't love these hoes
Pass her to the homie pass off

This is for G's and this is for my hustlers
This is for my hustlers stackin' they G's
This is for my G's and
This is for my hustlers
Speakin' of my hustlers, back to this weed

A nigga chiefin', eighth grade high, cheesin'
Loadin' up my Snoop Dogg G-pen
I hit the road and get stoned
I don't even have to roll to get stoned
Shit, Dice Clay with the chain smokin'
Pothead shit, got my chains smokin'
Bob Marley head
Diamonds all in up the dreads
I ain't that different, bitch please
You don't know the half, chicken
Plus a nigga wasted like a
Failed Grand Theft mission
So much chronic in my system
Pray to God I'm not a piss test victim
Well don't do crime, nigga
Too much bacon, stay off the swine nigga
Pass off

Wake up, count my money
Hundreds, fifties, twenties
Rollin' up the dank pass her to the homie
Wake up, count my money
Hundreds, fifties, twenties
We don't love these hoes
Pass her to the homie pass off

You know your man Bluntey
Got these niggas crunchy
Fresh pack of Palmer's, roll me
Up a blunt please, i'm a smoker, never sober
I bought the drop, like bitch, you know us
She wanna blow us, hopped on a tour bus
Met us in Cali, drove up to Boulder
(Colorado) now we rollin' while she blowin'
I got the bitch open, but (Pass off)

Wake up, count my money
Hundreds, fifties, twenties
Rollin' up the dank pass her to the homie
Wake up, count my money
Hundreds, fifties, twenties
We don't love these hoes
Pass her to the homie pass off