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* set to the beat and words of BDP's "Beef" from the LP +Edutainment+
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[Mr. Eon]
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Weed, weed, what a relief
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Where will my eighth a day habit cease?
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This an agricultural service announcement
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You can treat it, and you can douse it
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Let us begin now with the plant
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The way that it gets to your blunt in hand
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See the herb doesn't grow fast enough for man
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so for his lye, he makes a master plan
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He has bowls to make the weed grow quicker
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Through the hydroponic, the weed gets sicker
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Twenty-one different soils are dumped
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into the pot in one big lump
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So just before it dies, it dries
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in my back closet, with no moss and flies
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Off with the bud, we cut it, weigh it, and bag it
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and there it is for your local street addict
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Green and buddy, an ounce condensely packed
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Smoke it up and catch a heart attack
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Now come on now man let's be for real
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You are what you smoke is the way I feel but
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the weed and blunt administration'll
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have you thinkin lye is the perfect combination
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See heads be livin under fear and stress
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wonderin where they get the best
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Now beer and bless can become a part of you
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in your cells and dome, this is true
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So when the plant is grown, believe it
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Sell some to your man or smoke for free kid
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Roll it up, and begin seasonin
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Then you sit down, and begin seein shit
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In your body, Blackwoods, a Phillie, a Dutcher
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All the need and fiend for another
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See any smoke's addictive by any man
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Even the brownish rag it's all the same
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The alchemist'll have my ass, strung out
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on the indo and Northern Lights no doubt
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Think you got your weed habit on lock?
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Tell yourself you gonna try and stop
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smokin weed and you'll see you need the tree
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It's the number one drug on the street
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Not coke, cause that's a category of dope
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but the green leaf, that I smoke with wreath
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Now herb brings life and real bad breath
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Smoke all your shit and what you got left?
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Absolutely high, the sedative
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Watchin the movie Friday, with a spliff
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by Chris Tucker, that high motherfucker
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For anybody, Northern or Southerner
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See how many blunts we gotta pump up fatter?
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How many seeds gotta fall in the batter?
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How many chickens wanna smoke what you smoke?
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And how many heads ask for just one toke?
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Now they'll consume, the local dread could care less
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He'll sell you donkey shit and say it's FRESH
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for ninety-nine, you suckerrrrrrrrrs!
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High & Mighty, Mr. Eon, Mighty Mi
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Get your own shit, get your own shit man
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This my shit, I smoke my shit you smoke your shit
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Then we'll be fine
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Weed
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The High & Mighty |