Текст песни Twenty - Dead Prez

(Got-damn!)
What you smokin′ on nigga?
The twenty
What kinda rims you ridin' on?
The twenty
Light up the glass bong
I′d like to pass along a little story I call it
The twenty
You know a dub sack
I know you like it what you talkin' bout
I know you got one in your house
Somewhere prolly in your sock
Yo is it skunk or is it choc
Wait, before you roll it homey stop
Did you ever think about how did it get into the cellophane bag
From the hand of the dreadlock man up on Nostrand Avenue slid him a
Twenty
Wait up selector
Start it up again hey yo yo
In the Caribbean imagine you some ganja
Growin' in the sun here come the marijuana farmer
Chop you right, chop you right, chop you right down
Turn you upside down and hang you ′til you′re brown
Packed tight, midnight, they ship it to the coast
Some take the plane, but you, you on the boat
Right beside the money which is right beside the coke
Passin' by the coast guard, right under they nose
To the U.S.
Hey! Where anyone can get me
M.I.A.
All the way to New York City
You a twenty now
Get lifted now
Let me hear it now
Herbs for me wine and honey for me strong drink
Nah sniff no coke take that and you can′t cope nor think straight
Them lose faith, after one taste
Them get misplaced
But hold it why them so backward
Make them a fight down the herb
Got a that they see no a dread
But none of that them prefer
Gimme the green thing
Cause a it me prefer
Anything else totally absurd (yes mon)
What you smokin' on nigga?
The twenty
What kinda rims you ridin′ on?
The twenty