[Verse 1: Madd] Yup, Yeah‚ its me my man Ya getting kinda sober then lets me lend a hand Ta bring you up to the focal point‚ man I got the vocal joints Cops all around me‚ here an oink there an oink I love the blunts, ain't eight enough? I never get tired a smoking on that stuff 'Til I fall down holding on the grass Ta keep from falling off the earth and busting my ass I'm the smoker, the joker‚ the midnight toker I huffed and puffed til I was on like Oprah Winfrey, the sensi was fucking up my dome Hitting Buddah spliffs yeah the size of ice cream cones Then to quench my thirst I did the worst that I could do me Highed with the Ides, yeah‚ that shit threw me For a loss 'cause I was praying to the porcelain god I'll never drink again if I can make it out alive [Chorus] I love to smoke the bonger, (but that's my bidness) I love to tap the keg From Philly with the Phillies, (but that's my bidness) Worry about your own damn thing [Verse 2: Oatie] It was one of those days for lounging and carousing Talking politics with 40's and pounding Wasn't feeling up to the Temple Challenge More into improving my killer rolling talents With the dip of the herb I speak the verbs ya never heard The medium is the rap and the gig is the curb Brother talking hoes like he's vicin' all the vermin But I saw him at the peep show playing Pee Wee Herman Mickey fickey you ya mickey ficker Ya was choking ya chicken but ya chicken got quicker And sicker from greasing while I'm just pleasing Myself with a blunt and ya know ya should be ceasing That bootie-bootie true blues 'cause goodie-goodie two shoes Don't like ya bad breath from kissing all the coo coos Who claim any cock'll do but cock-a-doodle-doo I got my herb and my verbs and some ale ta get me thru [Chorus 2] I drink Old Crow, (but that's my bidness) I smoke the fat bones (but that's my bidness) From the day I la bo, (but that's my bidness) Worry about ya own damn thing [Verse 3: Swayzack] So lets step down to South Street and pick up some cid If nobody's down there I know this other kid His name's John Hummel, he's got a fat bundle The green's what I mean guaranteed to make you humble So lets smoke til we stumble and fall down on our face If the hoodlums want to rumble then we'll have to roll the place I don't need a base hit but a case would be the shit Malt liquor works quicker, too much'll make ya sick Now we're all feeling nice that's precisely how we like it But never indulging in a vice when we mic it The goats ain't saints, so don't paint no pictures 'Cause nobody's perfect, if ya think so ask ya sister 'Cause she can pound a 40 faster than you and I My boys call her Shorty but she likes to get hi, so do I [Chorus 3] I smoke fatties, (but that's my bidness) I pound forties (but that's my bidness) I drop cid, kid (but that's my bidness) Worry about ya own damn thing
Read the complete lyrics to "Got Kinda Hi" by The Goats from the album "Tricks of the Shade" in 1992. On Lyrks you can follow along with the full text, explore the artist's discography, and discover related songs. The track is often categorized under Rap.
"Got Kinda Hi" is performed by The Goats. from the album "Tricks of the Shade" in 1992 This page provides the full lyric text for fans who want to sing along, study the songwriting, or compare versions across releases. Lyrks organizes lyrics by artist and song slug so you can bookmark and share a stable URL.
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"Got Kinda Hi" is credited to The Goats. Songwriting credits may include additional writers listed on the release; check the credits section on this page for linked collaborators.
"Got Kinda Hi" appears on "Tricks of the Shade" in 1992.
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