4 THE LOW
Good weed, eyes low, ooh woah
No, we ain't gotta stress no more
Count it up, smoke gas slow, ooh woah
Pounds for the low, call my cell phone
No, I don't let shop close, ooh woah
Froze, yeah, my neck so cold, ooh woah
Clones, I'm the connect start handin' out clones
Every day wake up and get stoned
I'm talkin' all-natural
I'm rollin' them bats up now
The police don't pat 'em down
I see they be down bad
I'm rollin' up laughing now
These fools be sick, so when I roll six I don't even pass 'em now
Homie don't even ask 'em now
Black market on the East side they boxed up and got rich
For that same thing they doin' now homies locked up and I'm pissed
In a whoop wham still boxed up while them white folks get rich (on God)
So I make sure that I buy something every time I make the money flip (what?)
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got, pounds for the low
Rollin' weed and I trip
Make money then I dip (ayy, yeah)
Won't ask for a sip, self-made like Nip (yeah, yeah)
Boys got chick ways, ride waves like ship (yeah, yeah)
The game know we good business
'Cause we got it like this baby (what?)
I done made classics, come to that grass you don't even have to count
Whole turkey bag I roll it up fast, it don't even last 'em now
Wow, how?
Now they wan' flag 'em down
I do what I want ain't putting 'em amount
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
No, we ain't gotta stress no more
Count it up, smoke gas slow, ooh woah
Pounds for the low, call my cell phone
No, I don't let shop close, ooh woah
Froze, yeah, my neck so cold, ooh woah
Clones, I'm the connect start handin' out clones
Every day wake up and get stoned
I'm talkin' all-natural
I'm rollin' them bats up now
The police don't pat 'em down
I see they be down bad
I'm rollin' up laughing now
These fools be sick, so when I roll six I don't even pass 'em now
Homie don't even ask 'em now
Black market on the East side they boxed up and got rich
For that same thing they doin' now homies locked up and I'm pissed
In a whoop wham still boxed up while them white folks get rich (on God)
So I make sure that I buy something every time I make the money flip (what?)
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got, pounds for the low
Rollin' weed and I trip
Make money then I dip (ayy, yeah)
Won't ask for a sip, self-made like Nip (yeah, yeah)
Boys got chick ways, ride waves like ship (yeah, yeah)
The game know we good business
'Cause we got it like this baby (what?)
I done made classics, come to that grass you don't even have to count
Whole turkey bag I roll it up fast, it don't even last 'em now
Wow, how?
Now they wan' flag 'em down
I do what I want ain't putting 'em amount
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
For the low, pounds for the low
We got pounds for the low
Credits
Writer(s): Cameron Jibril Thomaz, John Wesley Groover, Jason Martin, Michael Cox, Khalil John Franklin
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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