LUNIZ — I GOT 5 ON IT | караоке з текстом і вимкненням вокалу

See, I'm riding high, whoa. Kinda rope seem too young, so all I got is five. I got five. Player, give me some brew and I might just chill, but I'm the type to light the lighter of a joint like Cypress Hill. I still do be spit loogies when I puff on it. I got some bucks on it, but it ain't enough on it. Go get the S-N-T-I-D-E-F, nevertheless I'm hella fresh. Rolling joints like a cigarette. So as it cross the table like pool pong, I'm gone. Beating my chest like King Kong, it's on. Wrap my lips around the 40, and when it comes to getting another stogie. Fools all kick in like Shinobi. You know he ain't my homie to begin with. It's too many heads to be popping and let my friend hit it. Unless you pull out the fat crispy five dollar bill, on the real, before it's history. 'Cause fools be having them vacuum looks. And if you let them interfere, you hella dumb, da-dum-dumb. I come to school with a Taylor on my earlobe. Avoiding all the sneak teasers, skeezers and weirdos. That be blowing off the lamp like, "Where the bomb at?" Give me two bucks you'll take a puff and pass my bomb back. Suck up the dank like a Slurpee, the serious. Bomb will make a niggy go delirious like Eddie Murphy. I got more war and pains than Maggie.'Cause home gees nag me, to take the dank out of the baggie. I got five on it. I don't fold, let's get key. I got five on it. Messing with that indo weed. I got five on it. It's got me stuck and I'm tore back. I got five on it. So I gotta let's go half on a sack. I take sacks to the face whenever I can, don't need no crutch, I'm so keyed up. Though the joint be burning my hand, next time I roll it in a halver. To burn slow, so the ashes won't be burning up my hand, bruh. Fugees get head but they know they gotta inch and bent. I roll a joint that's longer than your extension. 'Cause I'll be damned if you get high off me for free. Hell no, you better bring your own spliff, G. What's up, don't babysit that, better pass the joint. Stop hating 'cause you know you got asthma. Crack the 40 open homie, and guzzle it. 'Cause I know the weed in my system is getting lonely. I gotta take a whiz test to my PO. I know I failed 'cause I done smoked major weed, bro. And every time we with Chris, that fool rolling up a fatty. Half that Tanqueray straight had me. I got five on it. I don't fold, let's get key. I got five on it. Messing with that indo weed. I got five on it. It's got me stuck and I'm tore back. I got five on it. So I gotta let's go half on a sack. Hey, make this right, man. Stop at the light, man. My yester-night thing got me hung off the night train. You fade I face, so let's head to the East. Hit the stroll to 9-0 so we can roll big hashish. I wish I could fade a eighth, but I'm low budget. Still rolling a two-doe Cutlass, same ol' bucket. Foggy windows, soggy indo. I'm in the land getting smoke with my kinfolk. I'm getting smoked, yuck, that's the way I lay it down. Up in the O-A-K the town. Homies don't play around, we down to blaze a pound. Then ease up, speed up through the E-S-O-T, the P-S-O-P up. With the lemon squeeze-up. And everybody strolled up. I'm the roller that's quick to fold a blunt out of a bunch of sticky dolja. Hold up, suck up my weed is all you need to get feed. 'Cause where I feeds, we needs to have like a full full. I got five on it. I don't fold, let's get key. I got five on it. Messing with that indo weed. I got five on it. It's got me stuck and I'm tore back. I got five on it. So I gotta let's go half on a sack.