Pop the tab and look up to the blue like Damn, the world got a groove, right? It’s just mist on the glass, twist of the grass Crocs on sport mode, walking too fast Like, hell yeah, let it all breathe Wednesday don’t bite if you talk sweet Sky’s humming that Coltrane tone This morning really feel like a song I got red eyes and good vibes, you feel me? Sunlight bending through a beer can, real dreamy She said “you smell like weed and cold malt" I said “girl, that’s cologne where I’m from, that’s default.” Patio throne, tomato plant kingdom Ashtray full like a sad boy hymn run Neighbor peeping over just to catch that scent Colt cracked fresh, got the top all bent My life’s a series of slow starts and fast snacks Missed calls, scratch offs and flash backs Pulled two hits deep, now I’m narrating birds Like “damn bro, that robin just murked that worm.” I don’t need a weekend to wind down I’m built for low speed joy in a small town Snapbacks faded, vinyls on tilt This joint got a kick like it know how I’m built Pop the tab and look up to the blue like Damn, the world got a groove, right? It’s just mist on the glass, twist of the grass Crocs on sport mode, walking too fast Like, hell yeah, let it all breathe Wednesday don’t bite if you talk sweet Sky’s humming that Coltrane tone This morning really feel like a song That gold malt open like a movie scene Foam crown rising like it’s prom for a king Joint flick like a wand... lit, long and mean Burn slow while I preach to my trampoline I don’t got much but I got this minute A breeze, some green and a beat with spirit Gotta zip of that mint, it’s a full bouquet Pull hits like truths I forgot to say And my girl text me “grocery list?” I ghost it Too busy floating like a cloud in motion Call it lazy, I call it tuned in Sweatpants faith, dirt-under-nail zen Yeah, I’m stoned but I’m present... ironic My mood got a tempo: supersonic Neighbors nod, birds chirp, breeze clap Even my hangover’s trying to nap Pop the tab and look up to the blue like Damn, the world got a groove, right? It’s just mist on the glass, twist of the grass Crocs on sport mode, walking too fast Like, hell yeah, let it all breathe Wednesday don’t bite if you talk sweet Sky’s humming that Coltrane tone This morning really feel like a song I mean… You ever sip Colt 45 at 10:42 AM and feel like you in an Oliver Stone joint? C’mon. That’s back porch philosophy.
