Mazaltov

(albüm: Smokee Robinson - 2010)

[Hook:]
Bartender, bartender, bartender
Make me a drink
(What you havin'?)
What you think? shit
Get me a (a Mazaltov cocktail)
And (make it hurt)

Yeah, and put a flame on it
So I can leave a stain on it

[Verse 1: Nesby Phips]
Nod ya' head to the flick of my lighter
Fire to the ass of a joint get ya' higher
Never in over my head, I'm MacGyver
Even in the midst of the madness, I'm a rider
Heavy on the stamina, amateurs
Easily revealed than the presence of a panther, uh
Feline fantasies get fulfilled
Tell them canines chill
It's the leader of the pack with nine lives to live
What's a king without a queen?
Leader without a team?
Heater without a beamer?
Crops without the cream?
I'm self motivated so crops is not the thing
Approval of spectators does not bring the ring of a champion
Lamping and I'm champagne sipping
Touché not the cliché, my campaign pimping
Feel privileged if I played ya'
Plastic over paper
Magic over the Lakers
Happy to make your day, cause

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Curren$y]
Ya' gets no love and I thought you knew it
How to wrap a groupie from the club to the jacuzzi
My vernacular, more spectacular than you dudes is
Word to truth in the booth, rappin confucius
Hardest rhymes out, bite my shit be left toothless
What I wear, what I smoke both exclusive
Prime real estate, bitches see a nigga wanna build
Hold up there pimping got yo women catching chills
Clear windows, see me sitting behind the wheel
On the real say I won't, bet I will
But still, it ain't no fun
If the homies can't get a piece of it
Weed brownies in the oven
By the time she was buzzing, we was already fucking
Screamin so loud, she awoke my lil' cousin
Seen 'em in the morning, she was too embarrassed to say something
Bud, bitches, and breakfast ya' gotta love it

[Verse 3: Wiz Khalifa]
I'm smokin on some strong
Got some bitches who love to smoke bongs, papers, and bowls
So pretty much, any thing goes
Come and kick it, we'll blow some of this chronic smoke
Go to stores to cop shit even when they say they closed
These Louis, I suppose and right now, I'm high
My eyes so freakin low, I might as well keep 'em closed
You fucking with winners
Kush and orange juice on my eggs, flicking my ashes on dinner, nigga

[Hook]