Statik Selektah, Termanology, N.O.R.E., Reks - Drunk & High lyrics

Lord, I got something that
Your money can’t buy

I know dudes that catch your
Body like a stage dive
Cross over, move the work like they AI
Wolf on wall street, get high on bass side
Still drinking tiger bone like consistently
I’m still smelling like weed
Shopping at Tiffany’s
I don’t commit no problems
I just had an epiphany
I used to fuck a Spanish
Bitch and her friend bad
And when she went to work
I got some friend head
I never asked about her man
Cause he been dead
You see I still communicate
Through a star text
Star Trek, flip phone, I eject
The process, focus on the project
Yeah, so they was humble when they broke
But now they getting rap money
Acting like it’s dope
I remember when you sold soap
Acting like it’s gold
You niggas’ll sell your souls
Just to sell records
Niggas robbed you then sold
Back your necklace throw you off the roof
Niggas living reckless it’s cause

My lungs might go black
I stand from the Pakistan
Afghani kush, Amsterdam, packing jam
Throw a drink in my palm
Like it’s my catcher’s hand
I take a hundred shots then I
Throw up in the street
Drink Champs, drink Lager on the beach
Fortunate alcoholic, Gucci wallet is brolic
Gin and Tonic, Vodka, cranberry
Getting bodied
Marijuana, purp, 30 Xannies and them Oxy’s
Mix a Klonopin pill with a shot of Brigade
I drive drunk home
Jesus take the wheel from me save my soul
The one that Satan trying to steal from me
I get drunk ‘til everything sound real funny
My still stomach only thing to
Kill or steal from me
I be wilding in the club like I’m still 20
Wilding out, getting locked
Who got some bail for me?

Shit fuck it, show up
Always I sip some shit
Lyrics that lick his ears
Anonymous, we’re syndicate
Drink Champs in this bitch
Give me a fifth of Rémy Martin, nigga
Nuh uh, you don’t want no fucking problem
Nigga
‘Bout time me and compadres went all day
With models to this motel
Now we’re seeing the world sideways
Pissing alleys and hallways
You be spitting that blaze
We be spitting the John Blaze
Please give me besos mami
Can see the preacher Sundays
Saturday was a blur
A bunch of bottles and bitches
Holla if this is your
Prefered type of weekend on
The world tour thinking
With Q Tip, Phife D, Young G, Alisha E and
Skeet, skeeting like it’s 1993 again
Might just hit the tree again
Will we ever see you in
Show off CNN? Focus like the poachers
I’m tipsy off the potion
Mixing absent devotion
To the Henny minus Coke’ll leave you
Slained like homie from La Nostra
Straight, no chaser with the soda, word up