Hit The J

That Marry Jane

That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane

I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane

And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane

She don't wanna hit the J

She don't wanna hit the J

She don't wanna hit the J

She don't wanna hit the J

Don't want an undefeated title, don't want my chain

Don't want that new kid red, bitch, is money gain

See that red Maserati, niggas know it's game

Drive that bitch down road screens and blow the brains

Got that Rolly on my wrist, man that hoe insane

Remind me of my chick Regatta, she always pay.

Got a squad full chicks, they ain't dropping names

They all call like the get up play for Notre Dame

What's the next? Gotta dig ins, yea, that's right, that's right

You know I'll be digging, I'll be eating on the kitten, I'll be picking out

Never take her out to crustaceans and the in and out

Just like that Charlie Shay, nigga goin' in 'er mouth

She do everything 'xcept smoke that mean let a nigga poke

That mean she be off the coke like players centerfolds

Swear to God she a potent man

But she like Lindsay Lohan, except she be running from that dope man

That Harry Potter, that Marry Jane

That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane

I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane

And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane

Cause she don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)

She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)

She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit it)

Now she don't wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh)

Hit these bitches in my face, I'm blowing up

And when I'm stepping in the place, we'll be calling up

Fourteen bottles of Ace, models showing up

I tell 'er, homie break that down, and we gon roll it up

It's Friday and she ain't got shit to do

And we ain't got shit to do

So umm, what's good with you?

Smoke a little, talk a little, roll that up

Girl twist that J, remind me of my nigga Rondo

I know she ain't trying to hit that J

Different chains, different lokes

Different days, different strokes.

I smoke that shit that made Arnold and Willis broke

You know my lifestyle, squeeshes in them life styles

Bitches in the white house, red Camarro piped out.

I'll be iced out, my blunts be packed in

I'll smoke them till it's no more, I'm like the pack ten

I'm 'bout to pack ten bitches with them accents

Man we 'bout to pack twelve swishers in that black hen

That Harry Potter, that Marry Jane

That OG Kush, that sour diesel drive them girls insane

I roll it up, she disappear like David Blane

And she ain't try to book a flight on that paper plane

Cause she don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)

She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit the J)

She don't wanna hit the J (she don't wanna hit it)

Now she don't wanna hit the J (woh oh woh oh)