This is a song about "To high i pasted out"

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

With the dickerson mask would be getting in the ass

So while out here, at high class luncheons

It's moe, all i need is more chips

Then bring your big bad ass to california, cause we ain't hard to find

Given i should probably try to sit and lie to climb up high to a mind

That whatever it creates it will land in the head

I give up, high five it up, put the glock to my head, dead

I got that shit, that makes you high

Maybe a peaceful night, baby don't cry

Buy some french fries, then i get high

I like big butts and i cannot lie

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

Think its bout time to get my lungs scanned, so i plan in getting in a high command

Even now i keep a frown when i come arounddon't ask me about tha past