Drunk & High

[Produced by Statik Selektah] [Intro] Lord, I got something that your money can’t buy [Verse 1: N.O.R.E.] I know dudes that catch 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 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 [Verse 2: Termanology] 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? [Verse 3: REKS] 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