Burn One Down and Smoke Two Joints are my two favs, but here's some more cool ones: "See, I think drugs have done some good things for us, I really do and if you don't believe me, go home tonight take all your albums, all your tapes and all your CD's and burn 'em 'cause you know what, the musicians who made all that great music that's enhanced your life throughout the years... real fuckin' high on drugs!" ~Tool, Third Eye "Some folks say smoking herb is a crime, if they catch you smokin they're bound to drop the dime Insufferable informa crazy fools wait: with their fingers crossed for you to break the rules And in the evening when we try to jam, we like the music loud in this here band We let the bass line drop as loud as we can stand Somebody always gotta turn informa for the man I want to know right now is there one of you in the crowd are you gonna call 911 and spoil all of my fun You crazy fool i'm in the mood Get ready come on now, load up the bong, crank up the song, let the informa call 911 And when security police force want to arrive Don't try to run, don't try to hide just pull out the .9 pop in the clip and let one slip into these crazy fools " ~Sublime, Get Ready "It all started late on a saturday night Said who's got the spliffs and who's got the pint? Look out the window, said to my surprise Here comes the man in blue and his flashing lights He said now "your party's fuckin' over with Because ya smokin' bluntsand you're rolling spliffs, Now tell me what'cha think i oughta think of this? Say want'cha pull out your sack or you be missed." Say now mr.officer come charge me all the time You got me for possesion, but i swear that it's not mine No matter what you do or say It's bound to come right back this way And if you want a moment's please say This what you'll say c'mon an' Let's get this party started Until the break of dawn an' Let's keep this party movin' Until there's no one home an' Let's get this party started Until the break of dawn an' Let's keep this party movin' All you got to do is sing. Can't take the pressure for long All they wanna do is roll 'til after 2 Getting high then they singing this song Snap another b then drink another brew [X2] C'mon At the roadblock but me so sorry mr.cop I bet you anything me gonna get stopped At the roadblock but me so sorry mr.cop I bet you anything me gonna get stopped Hey mista coppa said now why'd you stoppa me? na na I wasn't driving the car badly I said don't go lock me up because me smoke sensi Yes, this is the ghetto but i live 'cross the sea Say now mr.officer come charge me all the time You got me for possession but i'll swear that its not mine No matter what you do or say It's bound to come right back this way And if you want a moment's please say This is what you'll say c'mon an' Let's get this party started Until the break of dawn an' Let's keep this party movin' Until there's no one home an' Let's get this party started Until the break of dawn an' Let's keep this party movin' All you got to do is sing. Can't take the pressure for long All they wanna do is roll 'til after 2 Getting high then they singing this song Snap another b then drink another brew [X4]" ~Slightly Stoopid, Officer
I got, fat bags of skunkI got, White Owl bluntsAnd I'm about to go get liftedYes I'm about to go get lifted I got, myself a fortyI got, myself a shortyAnd I'm about to go and stick itYes I'm about to go and stick it Method Man
Lying their bleeding your life is receding The reaper is near his intervention you fear Stabbed in the throat, on your own blood you choke Hell's flames light the bowls we smoke You've driven me insane, necrotic skin in the pale moonlight! Midnight Empire - Funeral Moon in the Valley
Tumbleweed by afroman is easily the best song to listen to high. It's been a long long time I've been smokin Smokin marijuana (La da da da da) It takes out of my mental ghetto and places me in the bahamas It's been a long long time I've been smoking Smokin marijuana (La da da da da) It takes out of my mental ghetto and places me in the Bahamas It puts my mind at ease Indulgin myself in the calm breeze And my problems will flow away beyond the palm trees Chorus *But I gotta keep smokin and a smokin and a smokin on I keep chokin and a chokin and a chokin on I keep sellin and a sellin and inhalin My tumbleweed I like to go to palmdale (Yeah) Sit by the fountain (sit by the fountain) I light up a fat one gazin at the snow-capped mountains (come again now uh) I like to go to palmdale Sit by the fountain (sit by the fountain) I light up a fat one gazin at the snow-capped mountains Baby please don't nag Go and get me the zig-zag And my problems will float away Like a plastic baiiiag Chorus I need to get a job And that's not funny (La da da da da) Cuz me be smoking too much ganja (yeah) And be runnin out of money I gotta lie to the man (let me get an application) Tell him that I've never been arrested (sir you have never been to jail) I gottta go to the clinic baby I gotta get drug tested (oh no) I got no food for my stomach Got no gas for my coup de ville I gotta walk to the supermarket for some goldenseal Cuz everyday Chorus Ohhh, Ohhh Yeahhhh Uh I said the black man smokin (black man smokin) If he's a soul bro (Hey man what's happening) I said the mexican smokin (mexican smokin) If he's a cholo (where you from esse) I said the creole smokin (creole smokin) Down in Mississippi (Fuck creoles) I said the white man smokin (white man smokin) If he's a hippie (where's the bud man) It puts my mind at ease Indulgin myself in the calm breeze And my problems will flow away beyond the palm trees</pre>
Nope, it's not a Bob Marley song. The original "Smoke Two Joints" was written by the Toyes. Sublime changed and removed some lyrics ("I smoke two joints when I play video game at every ten thousand points") and simply made a better song out of it. But anyways, my favorite lyric is from Led Zeppelin's Over the Hills and Far Away because it's a double meaning and most people who know the song don't know that it's about weed. "I live for my dreams, and a pocket full of gold." Of course "a pocket full of gold," also means Acapulco gold
[Juicy J talking] Mane check this shit out we was up in Chicago right With my nigga big hamp the nigga pass me a blunt Like smoke this shit nigga this some bin laden weed Y'all don't know nothing bout this down south What the fuck is bin laden weed its three different Kinds of weed all grown together that shit some straight killer Them Chicago niggaz call it bin laden mane some straight fie [chorus 4x's] Who got that hydro Who got that light green Who got that Bobby brown Who got that laden weed [DJ Paul] I swear sometimes I got to get high to hang around my hoe Sometimes I feel like I got to get high to hang round niggaz I know I sped it up on weed I slowed it down on snow Cause I seen somany niggaz fall off that blow One day they got it all and aint got shit to show So I came to my natures I had to cut that hoe So know I'm feeling happy I'm on that binny bin laden And niggaz is acting like they don't know what the fuck just happened My vision getting blurry I'm about to fall asleep Or am I dying I need to eat cause this some poutin weed My life start flashing like holograms like right in front Of my own face I never felt this way on one blunt I see my son gaining life and my dad losing his And old girlfriends and niggaz I shouldn't hung with The picture starting to fade its getting hard to breath I'm blacking out with no post up under my shirt and sleeve [Chorus 4x's] [Juicy J] Well since I'm on bin laden let me tell you a story Bout these three pussy rappers who couldn't do nothing for me Gave a whole lot of cheese said I fucked him his shit Smoked a whole lot of weed so he seem to forget Who bought trunks and you cars gave you bitches and hoes Who told you ass to take a bath when you thought you was raw Mane I tell you he a killer when we talk on the phone When you see him face to face he'll leave you alone That's why I'm smoking on this fucking bin laden All my niggaz in the hood they got it Take one little puff you a addict Take a gun to the head means tragic Boy I tell you like this we can smoke it anywhere In front of police station with a six pack of beer Seven a.m. in the morning just watching people stare Let 'em point them damn fingers say they wild over there [Chorus 4x's] [Lord Infamous] Ey ey its glowing like its indigo I smell it through the bag I'm floating like a magic carpet straight from bagdad From my brains from my blood from my lungs from the dutches Cant just let this reefer just escape from my a conscious Cause its the substance I'm loving I'm buzzing Smoking like a narven huffing and puffing Came from the Indonesia, Colombian or kaliman Or its by the welfare straight from the taliban [Crunchy black] Do you remember me from smoking good weed Break it down roll it up give it the indo need Do you remember me from no sticks no seeds Or you remember me from putting you on this laden weed Get yo funds together and come go and see I'm gone take you on the strip where bin laden be This one blunt action you'll have to smoke and see Have you choking, falling out with your family
yea it is a marley song( sorry i dont know why this is bigger than everything else i must have hit the wrong buttoon)well bob marley did it way before sublime im not really sure about what that other guy said but it could be right cause i have no idea what he is talking about so i dont know or atleast that is what i have always been told or read, i could be wrong but im pretty sure that im right
you all missed an old-school classic : Hits From The Bong by Cypress Hill Hits from the bong Hits from the bong Hits from the bong Hits from the bong Pick it Pack it Fire it up, come along And take a hit from the bong Put the blunt down Just for a second Don't get me wrong It's not a new method Inhale Exhale Just got an ounce in the mail I like a blunt or a big fat cone But my double-barrel bong Is gettin' me stoned I'm skill it There's water inside don't spill it It smells like shit on the carpet Still it Goes down smooth when I get a clean hit Of the skunky, phunky, smelly green shit Sing my song Puff all night long As I take hits from the bong Hits from the bong y'all Hits from the bong Gonna get high Hits from the bong Gonna get high Hits from the bong Gonna get high Hits from the bong Gonna get high Let's smoke that bowl Hit the bong And then take that finger off of that hole Plug it Unplug it Don't strain I love you mary jane She never complains When I hit mary With that flame I light up the cherry She's so good to me When I pack a fresh bowl I clean the screen Don't get me stirred up The smoke, through the bubbling water Is makin' it pure so I got ta Take my hit and hold it Just like chong I get the bowl and I reload it Get my four-footer and bring it on As I take hits from the bong Hits from the bong Gonna get high Hits from the bong Gonna get high Hits from the bong Gonna get high Hits from the bong Gonna get high Hits from the bong Gonna get high Hits from the bong Gonna get high Hits from the bong Straighten your dick out Gonna get high
"The Great Smoke Off" by Shel Silverstien Now in the laid-back California town of sunny San RafaelLived a girl named Pearly Sweetcake - you probably know her well She was stoned 15 of her 18 years, and her story was widely told that she could smoke them faster than anyone can roll Well, her legend finally reached New York, that Grove Street walk-up flat where dwelt the Calistoga Kid, a beatnik from the past He's been rolling dope since time began, now he took a cultured toke and said "Jim, I can roll them faster than any CHICK can smoke" So a note gets sent to San Rafael for the championship of the world the Kid demands a smoke-off; "Well bring him on!" says Pearl "I'll grind his fingers off his hands! He'll roll until he drops!" says Calistog, "I'll smoke that chick till she blows up and pops". So they rent out Yankee Stadium, and the word is quickly spread come one, come all, who walk or crawl, tickets just two lids a head and from every town and hamlet, over land and sea they speed the world's greatest dopers, with the world's greatest weed. Hashishins from Morocco, hemp smokers from Peru and the Shashniks from Bagun (who smoke the deadly Pu-ga-ru) and those who call it "light of life" and those that call it "boo". See the dealers and their ladies, wearing turquoise lace and leather See the narcos and the closet smokers, puffing all together from the teenies who smoke legal, to the ones who've done some time to the old man who smoked "reefer", back before it was a crime. And the grand old House That Ruth Built is filled with the smokes and cries of fifty thousand screaming heads, all stoned out of their minds and they play the national anthem, and the crowd lets out a roar as the spotlight hits the Kid and Pearl, ready for their smoking war. At a table piled up high with grass, as high as a mountain peak just tops and buds of the rarest flowers, not one stem branch or seed I mean, Maui Wowie, Panama Red, Acapulco Gold Kif from East Afghanistan, and that rare Alaska Cold and there's sticks from Thailand, ganj from the island, and Bangkok's blooming best (and some of that wet imported s--- that capsized off Key West). There's Oaxacan tops and Kenya bhang, and Riviera fleurs and that rare Manhattan Silver, that grows down in the New York sewers. And there's bubbling ice cold lemonade, and sweet grapes by the bunches and there's Hershey bars and Oreos (in case anybody gets the munches) And the Calistoga Kid he smiles, and Pearly she just grins and the drums roll low, and the crowd yells "GO GO GO!!" and the world's first smoke-off begins. Well, the Kid he flicks his fingers once, and ZAP that first joint's rolled Pearl takes one toke with her famous lungs, and WHOOSH that roach is cold Then the Kid he rolls his super-bomb, that would paralyze a moose and Pearl takes one mighty hit, and ...... that bomb's defused and then he rolls three in just ten seconds, and she smokes them up in nine and everybody sits back and says "Hey.... this just might take some time" See the blur of flying fingers, see the red coal burning bright as the night turns into morning, and the morning fades to night and the autumn turns to summer, and a whole damn YEAR is gone and the two still sit, on that roach-filled stage, smoking, and rolling With trembling hands he rolls his Js, with fingers blue and stiff She coughs and stares with bloodshot gaze, and puffs through blistered lips And as she reaches out her hand for another stick of gold the Kid, he gasps, "Damn it, bitch! There's nothing left to roll!" "NOTHING LEFT TO ROLL!" screams Pearl. "IS THIS SOME TWISTED JOKE?" "I DIDN'T COME HERE TO F--- AROUND, MAN, I COME HERE TO SMOKE!" And she reaches 'cross the table and grabs his bony sleeves and crumbles his body between her hands, like dry and brittle leaves flicking out his teeth and bones like useless stems and seeds Then she rolls him in a Zig-zag, and lights him like a roach and the fastest man, with the fastest hands, goes up in a puff of smoke. In the laid-back California town of sunny San Rafael Lives a girl named Pearly Sweetcake - you probably know her well She been stoned 21 of her 24 years, and her story is still widely told how she still can smoke them faster than any dude can roll While, off in New York City, on a street that has no name there's the hands of the Calistoga Kid, in the Viper Hall of Fame and underneath his fingers, there's a little golden scroll that says "Beware of being the roller When there's nothing left to roll". <OBJECT class=inlineimg title="Big Grin" style="WIDTH: 36px; HEIGHT: 77px" codeBase=http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=5,0,0,0 height=77 alt="" width=36 data=data:application/x-oleobject;base64,IGkzJfkDzxGP0ACqAGhvEzxwPiZuYnNwOzwvcD4= border=0 classid="clsid27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000>                                                                               <embed src="http://www.angelfire.com/jazz/1manband/sbutton.swf" quality="high" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/shockwave/download/index.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" height="290" width="269"> </OBJECT>
Well some say Willie got high on the Whitehouse roof, And old Merle Haggard liked to smoke his hooch, Yes there's a tale or two to tell on ol' Jerry Lee. Well, my favorite country singer is Johnny Cash, Well back in '68 he liked to smoke that hash. If it's all right by you by God it's ok by me. So let's all get stoned, and listen to George Jones. We'll get higher than a hippie on a helicopter ride. So roll up some home grown, and play a honky tonk song. I said you sing the low point, buddy I'll sing my high. Yeah that old draft beer just makes me wanna cry, and good hard liquor always makes me wanna fight, and Jose Cuervo, you are no friend of mine. I guess that I like the smell and I like the taste of a big ol' fattie stuck right in my face. So if you got, then smoke it , and pass it on down the line. So let's all get stoned, and listen to George Jones. We'll get higher than a hippie on a helicopter ride. So roll up some home grown, and play a honky tonk song. I said you sing the low point, buddy I'll sing my high. Well I said you sing the low point, buddy I'll sing my high. The Dope Smokin' Song - Jesse Dayton
The Mars Volta - "The Bible and The Breathalyzer" "Among the tattered dwelling of the new found home, in the furthest cramped corner sat the shell of a goat head strangled in copper wire, scraped of it's insides, unwashed behind the ears, fueling the crooked names spoken by leeches. To a thinning cowlick's fat his crippled limp, dragging along the hump of the floor. Sobbing from the smacking mouth of the demagogue wells, making wisecracks, spilling from the corners with their pink flinches, second glancing their every move. It ate pickled nose cartilage that fell from the ceilings, a porkskin drizzle unnerving the humans, while it read aloud from it's favorite books, in glossylalia slang and hierospecks truths, following a slow and patient wait, a mocking their hair as it was glued to their upper lip combover. Under the wall, the ships smeared by faithfully talking the magnum fanatics and their bottles of scalp soup. They cooked up a tardis smudge on their eyes, a lunar antidote that powdered underneath the oncoming pestilence of their idling fingers. It wrote them a seance, penetrated their every dependant desire. It hacked off the central headpiece to the collective. It wrote them a message in the marrow of the knife, with the extension of Baphomet* transfusion. Glued to the animals, perversions of their former selves, patiently biting their fingernails looking for a clue. As soon as it failed to appear, the faithful fell under the spell of public execution. It had been an eternity filled with useless ritual, and all for nothing, promising salvation, but only flags came swarming around for a better taste. What was left were the scraps, dressed in animal skin, defiled servants holding their breath, fatherless culprits blaming their kin, waiting for an answer. They thought a day would come, or a giraffe might choke in midair squeal, some sort of indication. Only it was the hands of the followers that had left their markings in neatly packed dunes filled with the decapitated remains, found sealed in sand. It only stained the conscious for a brief moment, then came disgust. Realizing there was nothing to it, people began collapsing in collective states of drought. Palm-size vents heating in the chest, cluttering the graph, a bladder full of remains. Nothing became of them because nothing was the reason, an apathetic display dripping into vats of obesity. The feud had been sucking teeth for some time now, but the only baggage that paraded about was the curtain epidermis unfolded in an inebriated suit. The fit came suffocating, feathering the boa-constricted paleness, frostbitten, and shovel-faced. It came before them in utter confidence, flares of pink owls in the nest of albino eyelids blinking out chemical obscurities to the blind. It bloomed into a hemmorrhaged contraption that impopulated the disenchanted, one by one. All the churches were converted into quarantine facilities, inside them grew bacterial stubble compacted by larvae, contracting and teething. A newborn litter degradively sufficient, running from the horse collarbone, amongst the murmuring femurs wimpering in fractures. "Are you the polaroid shot you thought you were?", it said with a coy smirk. With the position now vacant, it waltzed right in and made itself at home. Seduced by the empty nominations at the altar of broken ballot boxes, closer to that nothingness that everyone seemed to embrace. As it pissed all over them, the sigh of relief steamed off the soaking depressants, an impending sleep was on it's way." definitely about weed.