Mike Dimes, Wiz Khalifa and Hoodlum - GREEN
What's up with that weed, man?We blowing trees
Money from these hoes, man
That's what I need
What's up with that weed, man?
We blowing trees
Money from these hoes, man
(Ayo, Schim, run that shit back)
They try to tell me I'm a bobber, copper
Dropper, popper, stopper, commas a lotta
I do anything for dollars, gualla, mama
Papa, slaughter, daugthers, head knocker
Clientele all on my phone
I went to Venice just to bone it, end up taking shawty home
I got bitches on my dick, won't leave me 'lone
I keep it playing I ain't worried bout a hater they gon' talk too much
(What's up with that weed, man?)
I'm the biggest fucking gupie in the tank, lil' baby
You need a ticket just to get a up in the place, lil' baby
I make a ticket every city in the states, lil' baby
I'm the shit proly how I got the stench, but lately
I been on the road for the riches
'Til I double all my expenses
I ain't never gon' fall of a pivot (straight up)
But I'ma proly be trippin' if I hear one more description
About a nigga having me and some lame in the same sentence, nigga
(What's up with that weed, man?) (Fuck nigga)
'Cause I ain't even like that boy
Probably couldn't even write with the boy
Be mean all night to the boy
Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum up this and change the height of the boys
Swear they don't know me, don't wanna meet the old me
They try to tell me I'm a bobber, copper
Dropper, popper, stopper, commas a lotta
I do anything for dollars, gualla, mama
Papa, slaughter, daugthers, head knocker (uh, uh-huh)
They tryna tell me I'm a Taylor, gangster, but I do it major
Weed hand but I be with bangers, why you talking to the coppers, not us
Why you tryna stop us?
On them shrooms, we ain't pill poppers
Wanna book me? Fly me private, baby
Ride me, baby, from the 'Burg where they grimey, baby
I been looking shiny lately, what the time say?
I can't even see the face
Stars in the roof make her think we at outer space, yeah
They try to tell me I'm a bobber, copper
Dropper, popper, stopper, commas a lotta
I do anything for dollars, gualla, mama
Papa, slaughter, daugthers, head knocker
I got options
Big .40 on my waist, feel 'em coughin'
I'm on gas, bitch I'm coughin', what you need though?
I got hoes, pigeon-toed, moonwalking 'til they knees sore
Drank up in my gut and in my pee-hole (what's up with that weed, man?)
Shoot the shot like free-throws
Chop the shit, not me though
Drank sip like tea, ho
Big bag and my heat close
Get popped through that peep-hole
Shit, shoutout-
They try to tell me I'm a bobber, copper
Dropper, popper, stopper, commas a lotta
I do anything for dollars, gualla, mama
Papa, slaughter, daugthers, head knocker
Written by:
Michael Goode Jr., Dylan Schimmel, Cameron Thomaz, HOODLUM
Publisher:
Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
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