i’m smoking that bottom shelf storm drain scranton dirt. i’m boiling adderall in a crock pot blowing non newtonian bubbles. weed man rolled up in a white polo shirt, tried to sell me a fifth of givanium, i told him i don’t fuck with that shit, cause i don’t fuck with that shit. i’m sick in the head, if i wanted a real bad trip i’d go sober. this shit aint nothing to me, i’m in the pussy like genghis khan. i don’t even need all this money, they let me take shit for free cause they know i’m him.
i’m smoking straight ass, downright despicable nefarious devil-on-the-shoulder type shit. this shit is actually awful, i’ll fucking kill you. if you invite me to your function and there aren’t any fat ugly bitches i’m nailing you to the wall like the son of god. after three days the only thing rising again is my pants after enough viagra to knock out an elephant. opps asked for a charitable donation, beat their skull in with a suitcase full of more stacks than you’ve ever seen. dropped that shit right then and there cuz i needed both hands to light the nastiest, headiest, seediest blunt on god’s green earth. this shit ain’t nothin to me man
tsa asked me if i had anything to declare, i told them the green xanax makes me act gay and walked past with a third world gdp in rare watches and glickies in my carry-on. i’m moving abnormal. they took my stash of runts, so i rolled ‘em in their bedsheets and smoked 'em while they were sleeping. pope john paul thought he could flip ice on my turf and look what happened to him. i’m smoking that rinky-dink back alley bubble butt blowout green. i’m smoking on the shit that makes jordan peterson tweet like rupi kaur writes. go to “him” in the dictionary and you will find my graven image.
