I don’t smoke—I exorcise pain, White Widow twist with a clip in the brain, Got trauma in wax and a blunt full of shame, When I toke, I summon that Lucifer flame. .45 in the ashtray, rig in the sink, Stuff a whole zip in a pipe, no blink, Fuck a vape—I’m raw with a barrel and ink, And my hits leave holes in reality’s brink. Mouth full of smoke like I sucked on hell, Put resin in my veins, can’t fake this spell, Got a Glock to the side and a dab that swell, While I bust on the world with a warhead smell. ⸻ [1:00] Light up trauma like a vigil on chrome, Bong rippin’ loud like a warzone home, Strain so wicked it moan and groan, Got my mind in a grave and my soul on loan. OG gas in a bat-sized blunt, Dick in her mouth while she take that front, And I exhale death with a God-tier grunt, Then reload the bowl with a backhanded stunt. Flame to the face, no pass, no puff, This shatter got me twitchin’ like I OD’d rough, Got a 9 in the booth, that’s my peace when it’s tough, Put a round in the cherry if the high ain’t enough. (POP POP) ⸻ [2:00] I ain’t high—I’m executed, Put Biscotti in the clip and the room polluted, Got smoke in my eye, but the Glock saluted, And the weed hit harder when the mind diluted. I lace that joint like a line of coke, Put a round in the rig when I cough and choke, Got trauma in terp sauce, shit no joke, And I’ll light that torch on your soul to provoke. Run wax through the chamber like a murder plot, Smoke rise up like a funeral shot, Got buds so loud that the heavens rot, And the strain so pure it could fuck your thought. ⸻ [3:00] Push carts like I’m movin’ artillery, Mix hash with a 9 like it’s part of my liturgy, Got kush in the cross, ain’t no Christian imagery, Just a sinner with smoke in a death delivery. Shrooms in the blend, now I taste divine, While I deepthroat fate with a fat-ass line, Got a shell for a soul and a rig for a spine, And my dick stay high like it’s snortin’ the grind. I bust in the air and I bust in the flame, Got loud in the tip and a bitch screamin’ names, Load Cherry Pie in the mag, take aim, Then blow back brains while I take that strain. (BOOM!) ⸻ [4:00] One hand on the bong, one hand on the blick, If the smoke don’t kill ’em, then the .40 go click, Pack a blunt with despair, roll it tight and thick, And I ride through hell with a spliff on my dick. Pack wax like a kilo, tip it with blood, Sniff dabs off a dagger while I bathe in the mud, Got PTSD wrapped tight in the bud, And the Glock say “hello” with a double-tap thud. (BLAT BLAT) This ain’t kush—this vengeance baked, I ghostride trauma while the cartridge shake, Dab rig look like a pipe bomb cake, And I drop that hit like the world might break. ⸻ [5:00] Got Ice Cream Cake in the chamber loaded, Smoke trails thick like the sky corroded, Every time I toke, a body get noted, And the cherry on the blunt got halos bloated. I kill for peace and I toke for war, Sativa got me wildin’ like a trench on tour, Load wax in a 12-gauge dab decor, And my high hit hard like a carnivore. No chill in my strain, no break in my whip, Got a girl on her knees while I hit that trip, Put a shell in the joint, make the tip go zip, And the pistol speak fluent apocalypse. ⸻ [6:00] Call me the strain god, barrel-lit king, I don’t blow clouds—I blow everything, Got AK smoke in a blunt with a ring, And I cough out bars like a death bell swing. Rollin’ Jet Fuel with a carbine kiss, Put trauma in the grinder like a warlock’s wish, Hit wax so hard that my brain dismiss, Then I nut on fate with a spliff in fist. (UNHHH) Final toke like a guillotine prayer, Smoke twist up like a dragon lair, Load death in the bong, say a curse, beware, Then I vanish in fog with a soul to spare. ⸻ [7:00 - Outro (smoke echo, distant shots) “Strain king. Clip loaded. Lungs murdered.”
