Weed
set to the beat and words of BDP's "Beef" from the LP +Edutainment+



[Mr. Eon]

Weed, weed, what a relief

Where will my eighth a day habit cease?

This an agricultural service announcement

You can treat it, and you can douse it

Let us begin now with the plant

The way that it gets to your blunt in hand

See the herb doesn't grow fast enough for man

so for his lye, he makes a master plan

He has bowls to make the weed grow quicker

Through the hydroponic, the weed gets sicker

Twenty-one different soils are dumped

into the pot in one big lump

So just before it dies, it dries

in my back closet, with no moss and flies

Off with the bud, we cut it, weigh it, and bag it

and there it is for your local street addict

Green and buddy, an ounce condensely packed

Smoke it up and catch a heart attack

Now come on now man let's be for real

You are what you smoke is the way I feel but

the weed and blunt administration'll

have you thinkin lye is the perfect combination

See heads be livin under fear and stress

wonderin where they get the best

Now beer and bless can become a part of you

in your cells and dome, this is true

So when the plant is grown, believe it

Sell some to your man or smoke for free kid

Roll it up, and begin seasonin

Then you sit down, and begin seein shit

In your body, Blackwoods, a Phillie, a Dutcher

All the need and fiend for another

See any smoke's addictive by any man

Even the brownish rag it's all the same

The alchemist'll have my ass, strung out

on the indo and Northern Lights no doubt

Think you got your weed habit on lock?

Tell yourself you gonna try and stop

smokin weed and you'll see you need the tree

It's the number one drug on the street

Not coke, cause that's a category of dope

but the green leaf, that I smoke with wreath

Now herb brings life and real bad breath

Smoke all your shit and what you got left?

Absolutely high, the sedative

Watchin the movie Friday, with a spliff

by Chris Tucker, that high motherfucker

For anybody, Northern or Southerner

See how many blunts we gotta pump up fatter?

How many seeds gotta fall in the batter?

How many chickens wanna smoke what you smoke?

And how many heads ask for just one toke?

Now they'll consume, the local dread could care less

He'll sell you donkey shit and say it's FRESH

for ninety-nine, you suckerrrrrrrrrs!

High & Mighty, Mr. Eon, Mighty Mi



Get your own shit, get your own shit man

This my shit, I smoke my shit you smoke your shit

Then we'll be fine