lirik lagu crocker - meade, speed, weed
(verse 1)
/blue moon draft, that too…eh?/ f-ck it, slide me that and my newport pack/
/hey everybody! i’m socially awkward/ like a groom & a groom at a protestant altar/ ‘feez, was jesus an emam?/ hair like mine? i mean, sh-t, uh, keg stand!/ i rock the party while your girl’s gettin’ naughty/ then i rock her body ’till she’s glued to the potty/ hey dj! the f-ck is a dub-step?/ nevermind…i think that’s enough yet/ white people…w.t.f.?”/ coupled with the “x” that sh-t’s making me sea sick/ smash…bet you believe yet/ who everybody bites, but n0body respects/ heat, you feel the degrees yet?/ thumb to the knuckle, you feel my degrees yet?/
(hook)
/meade, speed, weed/
/meade, speed, weed/
/simple as can be, that is all i need/
/meade, speed, weed/
/meade, speed, weed/
/simple as can be, that is all i need/
(verse 2)
meade, you know: “drink,” like preferably beer/ or “burr” if you prefer, but i think that that’s weird/ add xo, adderall, and i’m gravy/ max bigaveli, start feeling wavy/ tune into the factor and i scream at the tv/ like that bald motherf-cker can actually see me/ uh, i meant “the sh0r-,” see my girl j-wowsers/ copyright, kronkite, put my bic to the bowser/ slang so hard that i’m seemin’ incredulous/ bread with my wine, my swagger is methodist/ like…guess who’s back…again/ crocker’s back! yeah, no, that’s him…/ like “fist pump bros! we don’t love them hoes!”/ and i’m too f-cking poor for a hmo/ if i put this out…does it make me slow?/ (well…does it?)
(hook)
/meade, speed, weed/
/meade, speed, weed/
/simple as can be, that is all i need/
/meade, speed, weed/
/meade, speed, weed/
/simple as can be, that is all i need/
(verse 3)
who likes beer pong?! you like beer pong?!/ i like a fat -ss and a beautiful clear thong/ joe rogan stoned, eating a deer dong/ a.d.h.d. meds adorning my beer foam/ five-percenters teach “the majority’s ignorant,”…not that that will play to your s-xual benefit/ in fact, try talking, respond with some confidence/ show her that you listen, man, pay her some compliments/ ay, mitch daniels, you look like a corpse/ pale as all h-ll, with a mouth like a horse/ i mean…satellite! back cup and it’s over/ here’s to hoping your mom still looks good sober/
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