Drunk & High (feat. Reks, Joe Scudda, and JFK)

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

I know music got your body like a stage dive

Cross over, move the work like they A.I

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 had

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, stay in the tumble 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 [?] on the beach

Fortunate alcoholic, Gucci wallet is [?]

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 Remy Martin, nigga

Nuh-uh, you don’t want nofuckin’ 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 spittin’ 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