On My Brief Case (feat. Zigg Zagg & Phonk Beta)

(Lynch): Now on my briefcase was some crumbled weed A pack of Saravegas and a 24 ounce O.E Might as well skeez these couple of hoes In my 69 Malibu sitting on Trues and Vogues For days you might have seen me in my cinnamon cut chrome shoes With some you-can't-see-me tint on the windows indo syndrome Smokin' it up, not givin' a mutherfucking fizuck Sold the cut, my ex-ho said "that nigga's sqattin' what?" Got at the homie Carl, and got me some of that bomb Had me so fucking high I got off like Vietnam Dead bodies and bitches clits simmerin' in the crockpot And the shit don't stop until my motherfucking chronic or high drop It's just that insane type of thing, let the MAC rain. Guts in the drain Siccmade niggas, they make the world go round And if you fuck with Siccmade Music you can get your ass gunned down (Phonk Beta): I had a homie who stayed up in Alaska (what he used to do?) Used to transfer flights over Nebraska And flew me back about a ounce of that Alaska indica weed And out of the whole zip possessed one seed Had it wrapped real tight all up in cellophane Can't have the K-9 dogs smell it, man If only you saw what I was seein', the buds was almost pure white, but not green Had to be one of those one-hitter quitter dome splitters It's the type a tweed that makes you wanna fuck your babysitter I roll a fattie, when I roll this fattie Niggas'll be all 'noid wondering why they lookin at me Bitches have the nerve to say my shit ain't bomb But it'll have your lungs burning, like you're puffing on napalm (Zagg): I wipe that sweat up off my forehead, I'm off the kush Lay back and take a comfortable hit, with a Q-tip, it's splitting my lips And my dome stays split off toothpicks I hit a lick with a quickness, dumping dead bodies in ditches Appreciate the fact, so come correct, cause I could be vicious Suspicious, comin' up on recognition I'm creepin' up from behind With a 12 gauge, non-fiction, I'm all prepared to go for mine So step in line, a couple of hits, dome split, I be lit on a for real basis With a machete I'll slice your neck just like them Jason cases Murder traces, but I ain't pinned cause there's no evidence Slight scent of that purple kush plant, and I can almost sense the essence What's the lesson? Get tested, don't come if you can't come correct It's that West Coast shit for life. I don't know what you expected I'm reckless, nevertheless I'm a pimp in a bulletproof vest Putting it down, pound and pound, you need to take a step down .50 caliber rounds, I'm running through your whole town Buckin' em down like Doom set on deathmatch with the BFG-9000 cartoon