Grow (feat. La & Smoke Dza)

Looking to toke up?
Yes, thank christ look just give me a dime of your finest sticky
Wanna see sticky icky my friend?
DZA, right, uh
A nigga gotta keep it G though, sour hour then it's off to the Bistro
Hit the rugby store with Steve-O
Real quick off a lick shit was easy as a free-throw
Cashin out Sam Ross and Casino
It's the kush god coming with some mean-old-bud
It's that Larry OG, my strain of the week
Smash it in the grinder, sprinkle it with kief
In the 206? The hottest nigga in the east
On the low though, all I need is a lil more promo
Niggas lighting reggie around me is a no-no
Get the boot just cause they don't know no better
Lil horse on my Polo sweater
I mastered this, it's classic shit
Uh, and Im vintage DZA, my low game finish niggas

I smoke to get high, cause life is so low
All I know is I ain't tryna do this on my own
So it's me and Mary Jane, both gettin' grown
When you see the packs, like attack of the clones
You don't want this hash-wax to the vapor-dome
Followed by a snap out of each and every bong
28 grams, top shelf, take em home
Open up the bag 'bout to get into my zone
Still they try and tell the people smoking weed is wrong
But after smoking weed is when I wrote my deepest songs
And on my worst days, made me feel like keepin' on
Chiefin Purple-Haze until my vertebraes were strong
Jar half full 'bout to burn it 'til its gone!
My recommendation just made my dealer broker
And this piece of paper just made me a legal smoker
WCW bud is even doper
It gon' make you see double or leave you in a coma
Because Seattle only competing with California
If you ain't on the West we out-grown ya
The aroma got me feeling at home
There's nothin like the scent of marijuana to a stoner

Blue Dream and Northern Lights, puffin' purple with my people
Headband, Cinderalla 99, and Sour Diesel
Irish Gold, Blueberry, White Rhino's what I twist
With some Afghan-Gooey, Cat-Piss, and Cali Mist
Got that AK-47 mixed with some Bubblegum
GrandDaddy Purp, OG Kush, and Romulan
Straight chronic, hydroponic, always organic and medical
Liquid THC! (Pepe: Wait Wonka don't forget the edibles!)
Shit, we stay blowin' big Phillies like the Sixers' girls
My blunts like dumbbells, too much for your chick to curl
Strictly heavy-weights, inhaling through a gas-mask
So let the smoke flow from my Volcano® to a trash bag
Nothin but Swisher guts in my trash can
You pussies look but never touch call it a cat-scan
You can tell by the crowd and every trashed fan
We blowin' L's don't give a fuck where the ash land!

Makin love, music, and money, the modest hop around me
I meditate on Buddha just like Mahatama Ghandi
And bang nothin' but these beats cause the block behind me
Stick that shit under the seat when the cops behind me
Though I'm the God of it
Rhymin is just a side of me
It will never entirely diary the entire me
Try to tell me that shit is dead, you know
Hip hop is alive, lyrics is back
The youth are the legs, you the arms, I am the cap
Head piece to the Voltron, stoned like Volcom
Used to lose his cool now his attitude is so calm
Other troubled souls playin' life like Socom
Fuck beefin' I just came to get my smoke on
Younger days when I flung yay
Apartment empty I told them bitches it's feng-shui
Eatin' off of this music, use it for lunch trays
Blowin' blunts in the sun 'til my tongues grey