This is a song about "Grass"

You fucking dead bitch chips, i'm on my fifth bag with your bitch ass

Because im like flash mother fucker, i dash, laid on the grass

Am sick of being stuck for grass

Poppin purple tagsshow my face for cash

Cuz if i get high of that trash im blastin brain cells and this ass is grass!!!

So while i hold this bottle of ciroc with a hand full of ass

People wonder why grass is green,

And i put you on the team

No one-half and i hate math

But first imma smoke more of this fine grass

To the point that you ran out of hope, you were a high grass

But anyway, give me cash fag, cause i'm low on gas

To the point that you ran out of hope, you were a high grass

I welcome with my handsand the red sun sinks at last