[Intro]
Fascinating grass
Grass
[Verse 1: Big Tone]
Inhale an L of elevation vegetation
Out the one-hitter and exhale a spell of medication
Get the case in the front gate for drunk dates
And cheap scents synonymous with D-list celebrations
The smell of cocktails be hella' abrasive
Still I never felt the belch my name is Stella Factious
The flyest accommodations of hotel arrangements
Still bleaching the scent of reefer out they elevators
I'm in the hooka lounge, lounging with the hooka, hacking through the clouds
Poolside taco meat scatter with my belly hanging
Celly ringing, voicemail be banging off the chain
Never check 'em though, it's probably better if your text contain it
So many lost hotel keys the front desk complaining
I'm in the complementary robe, stanky legging with my necklace hanging
Chest neck Carti framing like a westside seven native
And this is either Sour Diesel or I'm levitating
The Hermes really burn em' sunny no more speculation
Wasting, Crown Nation, the explanation
When your favorite rappers acting like next debatin' Satan
[Verse 2: Quelle Chris]
Peel back this blunt rap and use the straw that maintain it
To sip the something strong with something carbonated
Outfits like a prom occasion
Bishop Don slash Russell Simmons sneakers with the blazer blazin'
Smoked out flicks got an albino filter
Fans thinking we Vybz Kartel tell 'em Vitiligo gellin'
All city, in all cities
Hadouken some broads suplex is all you gets
Brain-dead, geeked out, stupid
Stupid fresh I'm funky in a sang hubris
Who the fuck you frauds pluggin' you a funk thuggin'
Get the steppin' like Tommy and Cole buggin'
That's what I call a cold dozen
Flip on the gas and open up that closed oven
Turn on that trash we likely to throw somethin'
Pay us in cash and act like you know somethin'
[Chorus: Quelle Chris]
Smokin' on (fascinating grass)
Feelin' like I'm smokin' on some
Feelin' like I'm lifted off that
Feelin' like I'm burnin' down some
Get lifted off
[Verse 3: Roc Marciano]
Moët Chandon the don of dons
Thousand dollar Mont Blanc when I write songs
Buy nice cars, life was hard
I wasn't dealt nice cards
My scars require more than Tiger Balm (ow)
A new blue Mercedes can maybe cure your diabetes
I bag dime pieces in Prada beanies
And Buscemis, who you think you Houdini?
I'm here in the flesh, still wonder who can see me
Still a show, steal your ho don't think I won't?
Send her home smellin' like hotel soap
You tellin' jokes round grown folk
Your raps like Adobo bro daddy I'm not your average Joe Blow
Sling blow for cheese Veuve Clicquot
I'm covered in gold I feel like C-3PO
Covered in gold I feel like C-3PO
[Verse 4: 87]
What you talking you playboy, ain't shit sweet though
Outside of murdering beats, I know a few cutthroats
Strawberry D Smoke, that's all she want
I told her shut the fuck up, and suck a nigga dick or somethin'
We're top notch, overlord of the weed spot
With his moon roof open blowin' pot
Wallaby Clarks, 96 style
Frontin' in the B-Boy stance like I was Run or somethin' (run)
The mic killer, the money getter, nigga roll somethin'
It's the return of the Deacon speakin' what the fuck they want (preach)
Bitch, you ain't got nothin' on the rich
Every four bars a nigga whole style switch
Polo sports basics, getting lifted, it's wasted
Baby, tell your mans learn to bag first and then get money
A simple assignment you crash test dummies
This is complex rhymin' homie
Sour Diesel smoke, got the smell all on me
Great clouds in the whip, bad bitch all on me
You know the clique spit slick, Crown Nation, homie
It's Wasted, homie, till the days end
And the days end, L blazin', it's amazin', raise up
[Chorus: Quelle Chris]
Smokin' off
Feelin' like I'm smokin' off some
Feelin' like I'm lifted off that
Feelin' like I'm burnin' down some
Get lifted off
Get lifted off
Get lifted off
Get lifted off
[Outro]
Wait, what the fuck am I supposed to say in this? He told me - he said some shit about like... being you is great, I wish I could be you more often, y'know? Keep your eyes out
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