Artist: Apocalipps f/ Iron Mic, Truck
Album:  Smokefest
Song:   Smokefest
Typed by: pneumatic

[Intro 1: Fatman Scoop]
Ninety-seven, The number one station for hip-hop and r&b
It's Fatman Scoop, That's who I am man
You know the number, 1-800-223-9797
We're still givin out tickets for the smokefest
We're still doin that, But Apocalipps is not in the buildin
Don't call up hear askin for no Goddamn Dutches
And you wanna smoke, And you want weed, The man's not here
If you wanna reach em you gotta get at the man in the streets
That's where he's at, Go to Staten Island
Do not annoy the hell outta me, You wanna speak to me
You wanna copy of the smokefest, You can do that
1-800-223-9797, Lets keep it movin, It's Hot 97 the official number one

[Intro 2: Truck]
Ohh shit, I'm still fucked up Q
I'm tellin you man, This shit is good
(Get high, So high)

[Chorus: Apocalipps]
This is the smokefest, Yeah bring all that weed
And I'm talkin bout that get right, It shouldn't have seeds
This is the smokefest, Come on you gotta love it
And we gone burn all night, I'm talkin boxes of Dutches
At the smokefest, Here break up the hash
Matter fact, Yo you totin man, Puff puff pass

[Truck]
Yo have you ever messed around and smoked weed out a bong
Got so high that you thought you was Cheech and Chong
Tell them niggas bout that garbage, I aint comin back
I'd rather go somewhere else for a twenty sack
I even lied to my doctor, I got cataracts
Swear up and down like there's somethin wrong with my back
Like I aint seen a nurse sneak fifty pounds in the back
I'm tired of payin for my weed, Yall aint payin me back
I was gonna get foul and straight rob this bitch
Instead I filled an application and got a job at this bitch
Like David Chappelle, Next week blowin on L's
Half baked in the janitor closet, Blowin the sale
Called up my Bastardz, I got a story to tell
Tell the niggas around the way I got ounces for sale
Pounds for cheap, Even got sample for free
For you first time buyers man, Who fuckin with me
And if you want the assignment, You better have my bread
Cause I'ma be on you and your man like Smokey and Greg
I'm big worm, This aint Friday, This is my day
A hood holiday, We all gettin high today

[Chorus]

[Apocalipps]
The juks is tonight, A job like this is risky
Peep how I call Rise Clyde for all of his sticky
I got the scoop for this rehab bitch, She turn tricks
She be chillin on one-four fifth in Saint Nick's
She said Lipps this nigga got mad shit
And I could tell she got em open with the tricks she could do on the dick
I grabbed the mask, Grabbed the gloves, Grabbed the nine and the clip
This nigga better have somethin or I'm pushin his shit
Now tie high up on some kinky shit
And then treat him like the President, Some Monica Lewinsky shit
Cause he's a fake rule boy and he not gone live
You can tell this motherfucka think he spark a Benz
Whatever leave the door open cause I'm gwan come in
Fix your watch bitch, Make sure you have em tied by ten
Now I'm in the lab, Duke Mary playin himself
Pictures of his wifes and kids on the walls and the shelfs
They freakin out, She got em handcuffed and blind folded
He got his safe open, Frontin for shorty, She got em open
It was like stealin candy from a baby
It's a dirty game, I'm on top yall thanks to my lady
She got you slippin with the slow neck
Thanks for the Rolex, And the weed is on you at the smokefest

[Chorus]

[Iron Mic]
Yo, Yo let me tell you bout this weed heist that you woulda did
It all started when I first bagged this stuartist bitch
I met her on the airlines, Flight 103
On my way OT to see my little cousin Nee
Cut to the chase yo, I bagged and stabbed it
She callin me off the hook, Sayin that she gotta have it
She starts puttin me on to where they keep the baggage
And how she smuggles in pounds of weed for these rappers
The girl is down for me, She in love with the Bastardz
She know we next up to be runnin this rap shit
But anyway, Back to the story
I know I had her in the smash when I asked her to bring my bad up for me
I played it cool, Didn't want to over-react
I asked you still be doin that for them niggas that rap
She said hell yeah, Three sixty-five days of the year
Bout every two weeks, Rain, Snow, Or sleet
They get in flown straight from Amsterdam, It's so sweet
I bring it to the cab then you pick em off in the street
I think I told myself, Get the weed and be on my way
Cause I aint tryna be bunkies with John Forte
Well peep this, I aint even have to use the nine
I just picked up them briefcases like they was mine
Flagged down a yellow cab, Cause it said express
The driver asked me where I was goin
I told that motherfucka to take me to that smokefest

[Chorus]

[Outro: Apocalipps]
(I wanna get high, So high)
(I wanna get high, So high)
Yo truck, Let me taste some of that shit that you stole from the hospital man
Pass that shit