Låttexter
Don't worry about what the fuck he be doin', it's DJ Smokey
Dabaholics
N-Nuke Radio
Nuke Radio, we make your eardrums bleed
I treat this fuckin' 'Cleezy like I didn't pay 15
I'm a big boy, I can't fit in no Celine
Pourin' up this red, this Faygo looks like it's Supreme
Another pint of mud, this Plein is poppin' from the seams (restless dream)
You think you're sippin' good, but everything's not what it seems (DJ Smokey)
Buffs on my face, I can't tell you what I've seen
Cream soda dirty, but my mud, it is so clean
I'm noddin' off in public, you mistake me as a fiend
Sold a fraction of the Bitcoin for a eight
I don't like to get high, I just like the taste
I cool with the gang, we put filters on our face
I just opened up a BOA account inside the Chase
I'm retarded, how the song go?
One wrong pill turn John Smith to John Doe
9 on my lap, if I up it, then you gonzo
Walk into the function, pocket filled with garbanzos
(Damn son, this must be a DJ Smokey exclusive)
Legalize nuclear bombs
