This is a song about "Weed and the shed"

So catholics hold your rosaries, baptists pray and roll the weed,

So my outlook's dim and my house is eventually without any heat

Smoking meth, weed and popping pills at the same time

Art design, archin' mine, fresno to clarke i'm fine

That you can buy the clothes and the weed to smoke

When i'm on it, on it like my job

I cut the finest weed down, and smoke like my glock clips,

The white boy sees this as a clearance, now its

Get easy then you'll see is just the weed and sleazy dreams,

Your bitch kind of ugly but she sure fill up them jeans

The weed hitting hard and quick just like a cobra,

I ain't gotta tell you they know about me, huh

Chasing for the wind but you never win the track meet

And methodists got money, baptists suck, roll the weed,

It made its way home like a road map, i fathered this

And my man hatchet packs a shed full of axes