This is a song about "Sitting in the green gress"

Me and my microphone could be one

The green backs in my pockets be talkin

It's not a figure of speech when i tell you that i dumped her

Sitting in the corner tweaking hour by hour

Grapes of knowledge growing green, toss em in the well,

Thought she hot i swear, probably rougher than hell

Okay now listen, sitting here taking in the different aspirations of life,

Doin twenty to life in san quentingettin calls from my nigga mike tyson, ain't nuttin nice

But i wear mine on my head, supreme

Because i smoke on the green

Sitting in the bathroom expecting the director

Rock them bitches once then forgot about ‘em forever

I stayed away from reading the plain dealer

Green in his lungs the black in his heart much scarier