GANJA STYLE: mars 2013

3/19/2013

petits doigt qui fument un joint "cest miiiignoooon"

mémé de 80 ans qui nourrit ses lapins avec du cannabis

ARTICLE DE JOURNAL

"Une mémé de 80 ans qui nourrit ses lapins avec du cannabis"

3/05/2013

MASTER P" 1/2 on a bad of dank"

MASTER P

" 1/2 on a bad of dank"

Light ya joints, lets have a muthaphukkin smokeoffyall niggas bout ta see more of that country ass muthaphukkin Masta Pfrom New Orleans to Richmond California,that nigga crazy ass, but check this outCali got that good ass weed, that good ass weed, that good ass weedthem niggas in Cali got that good ass weedthat¹s why Im on my way to the Northside

Im so tokeI guess Im gone of that green stickyjust ripped a muthaphukkin hole in my brand new dickiesfrom walkin to close to the fuckin barb wirethats when I know I¹ve got 10 dollars on some fireIf you can do this muthaphukkalets get a twentyfuck white zig zagsI need some brown stickysI mean that swisha go good with that dankniggas be gettin fucked up in my hood like they smokin crankbut we not we gettin higha than firebut I won¹t stop smokin dank till I retireI wonder do they have dank up in heavenand if they do I¹ll prolly do a muthaphukkin 211 (Me too)for a bag of that green stickyUp in heaven a nigga runnin round crazy like he done took a bickyI¹m not Dre, but I don¹t want nuttin but chronicthis dank keep me comin back like Im hooked on phonics
what ever ya want whatever ya need fool I got itwell lets go half on a bag of dankwhatever ya want whatever ya need fool I got itwell lets go half on a bag of dank
Lets meet my homiethat fool got hella weedhe sells like spanish flymakes bitches get on their kneeshoes be suckin dickfo that green stickylike this bitch named Michelleand my partner Rickyfo a half a jointthat bitch got toasteddrama in motel 6 gettin roastedlegs all open drawers under the bedshe didnt know where she was at (where you at girl)my little potnah was hittin it in her mouth into her throatHoes be smokin that dank to keep their nerves calmI be smokin on that shit to get my perv onIt go good with that gin and juice and squishy sqeekthat¹s how we do it every day of the weekI don¹t sleep but at night I get the munchiesand afta I eat I be back smokin them green crunchies
chorus x6
yeahuhhhinhalelets go half on a bag of dankI mean that green stickyand how you do itwhen you blowin?you inhale

KOTTONMOUTH KINGS "4-2-0"

KOTTONMOUTH KINGS "4-2-0"

Ya know I got 2 states of mind, stoned and asleep
First I hit the sweet leaf, and then I have nice dreams
When I get up, I wake and bake, take a piss and shake
My clock stopped at Four-twenty, what you want me to say
I stay blazed all day, no matter where I’m creepin’
Hot boxing on your block, and at the spot on the weekends
You’ll see smoke risin’, Just who could it be
It’s my rhyme and crime partner, D. dash L. O. C.

Yeah that be me born and raised in the suburbs.
Faded off the bud smoke blowing it at you nerds thanks Johnny Richter for your nice little hand
off
I got some purple Kush
Did you bring the sand box?
Let’s bounce some bud so we can make a little Keefe
Spice up the leaf before we smoke the tree
Everybody in the scene
Know we blow the most dosha
That's why they label us the Kottonmouth solders.

“we got all types”– At 4-2-0 yeah our clocks is always altered- “we talking pounds” These
anti-hero’s are just here to serve you proper “Roll that shit up” So leave those blessings right
up here upon the alter “pass it around” at 4-2-0 everybody’s burning Ganja”

You’ll catch me at the Smoke-Out smoked out, dropping drinks
Having a blast, not giving a fuck, doing my thing
Blowing rings through the crowd, being loud and obnoxious
Now the shots I did with Pak got me feelin’ kind of nauseous
But I played it cool and pulled a few snaps
Big fat packed bowls, and had a chicken Caesar wrap
Dipping through the whole place, no where else I’d rather be
Then smokin’ weed with my peeps, now I pass it to D.

24.7 Everyday every minute everybody every stoner grab your bud keep composer beer drinkers,
pill poppers, acid heads and freaks
All the creatures in the street Heroin addicts and geeks
Kottonmouth Kings signed a one way contract to see the world and smoke the killa chronic
D-Loc said it, so don't you forget it
It’s four (four), two, o and I blow endow.

“we got all types”– At 4-2-0 yeah our clocks is always altered- “we talking pounds” These
anti-hero’s are just here to serve you proper “Roll that shit up” So leave those blessings right
up here upon the alter “pass it around” at 4-2-0 everybody’s burning Ganja”

Now you might see me on a mission searching for double-vision
And I ain’t no mathematician, more like a stoney musician
But I get a little help from my friends when in need
Hit the bubble, fuck, double, now I’m seeing in three’s

4-5-6, double dash is D
I'm always drinking beer and I'm always smoking weed
hanging in the streets just doing my thing
putting it down for the herb with the Kottonmouth Kings

All these hours and days inter-face with the planet with bubbles and bells the kush is orgasmic
– I transplant my mental to truly titanic fanatic levels for all you bud fiending addict – the
session begins right upstairs in my addict we bless it we roll it we toke it and pass it – the
next time you see us don’t take us for granted – we’re all getting lifted just the way that we
planned it

“we got all types”– At 4-2-0 yeah our clocks is always altered- “we talking pounds” These
anti-hero’s are just here to serve you proper “Roll that shit up” So leave those blessings right
up here upon the alter “pass it around” at 4-2-0 everybody’s burning Ganja”

METHOD MAN 4:20

paroles

[Intro: RZA (Method Man)]
Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (roll it up niggaz)
Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (4:20, y'all, it's time, it's time)
Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (it's been a long time for this man
Niggaz been sleeping on the kid, man, everybody got some sideway shit to say)
Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (Carlo! Know what I'm saying, man? Yeah)

[Method Man]
Fast or slow mo, oh no, Meth done made a killing
Call the po-po, oh niggaz is squealing, oh, y'all ain't feeling
Niggaz no more, the bigger they are, harder they go though
Good pussy put a hump in my back like Quasimoto
Hah, my sex ain't homo, season vet, hold the adobo
Got rappers on that low carb diet, y'all can't get no dough
I keep a low pro, file, excuse me as I get smoked out
Put hands on these niggaz, then put the roach out
Go head, I'm wishing you would, ask if it's good
Man, this Tarzan shit in the woods, my shit is hood, bitch
That means I'm hood rich, telling you lies
Straight out the pull-pit, it's like Merrill Lynch I'm on that bullshit
Real spit, money come first, and even worse
You need all your toes & fingers to count up what I'm worth, trick
So when I blow a smoke cloud in your face, just take a hint
Dick, you crowding my space, it's Mr. Meth, pa

[Chorus: Carlton Fisk]
It's 4:20, roll up, nigga getting smo-ked out
No seeds, California weed have you choked out
No doubt, roll up, which rims spoked out
4:20 mean you either roll up or roll out

[RZA]
Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it
Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it

[Method Man]
So on and so on, I flow on
Power to our people, get your smoke on
And I'm so gone, off, that sour diesel
Hard to hold on, but hold on, it's like I'm Pretty Toney
With that robe, got terrorist shook, because I'm so bomb
The hood, put, me in position, I'm in the kitchen
With that cook book, the service I'm giving, birds they vision
Not a good look, told ya my nigga, Tical deliver
Hook or crook, lots of asses to kick, wish I had a bigger foot
Yeah, taking it there, hating who care
Y'all stay out my mental, I got killas waiting in here
To get you, as I sharpen my pencils, tear apart instrumentals
Fuck it, y'all niggaz is pussy, so is the dick that sent you
RZA, we done it again, Co-D occassion
Here's to short skirts and Ol' Dirt McGirt, okay, then
Let's get it popping, like it ain't nothing to get it popping
The big and rotten's the city, too good to be forgotten

[Chorus 2X]

[Streetlife]
The rap game won't like me
You can tell that a nigga is shiesty
If I die, my second born'll be like me
Slide dick to your wifey
Never know your baby boy just might be
Quick to rob a jack, he's so icey, stay dressed to kill
From the Hill, never ran, never will
Attitude, like, fuck you still, I see you missing the point
This is not a rap song, you get clapped on
Bullets break the bone, like the joint, call you out your name
Disrespect ya moms, spit on your dame
Go public, then, shit on your fame, you overlooking the fact
Where you from, is where we at
And y'all don't want no, parts, in that that
Caught your verse for sale, but real niggaz don't shoot & tell
We'd rather do the time and rot in the cell

[Carlton Fisk]
The inner outer state, bi-coastal smoker
Inhale, Cali piff with a swift of glaucoma
Black jeans, black Timbs, black Benz roaster
Smoke rise, out the sun roof when I roll up
Verrazano, with no relation to Gravano
Carlo, shots are hollow, still cop a bottle
And pour some out, moment of silence, then I swallow
I'm still alive, and still the sun'll come out tomorrow
Shine shine shine, and grind, cuz it's money on my mind
And I'm moving like my life is on the line
For the bullshit, I really got no time, a full clip
Really gon' let ya niggaz know what's on my mind
When ya getting out of line, have them choppers lit up
You won't need a camera phone to get the picture
Chalk down, tape around, body bag zipped up
Carlo Verrazano, you can call me mister

[Chorus]