[Verse 1: Madd]
Yup, Yeah‚ its me my man
Ya getting kinda sober then lets me lend a hand
Ta bring you up to the focal point‚ man
I got the vocal joints
Cops all around me‚ here an oink there an oink
I love the blunts, ain't eight enough?
I never get tired a smoking on that stuff
'Til I fall down holding on the grass
Ta keep from falling off the earth and busting my ass
I'm the smoker, the joker‚ the midnight toker
I huffed and puffed til I was on like Oprah Winfrey, the sensi was fucking up my dome
Hitting Buddah spliffs yeah the size of ice cream cones
Then to quench my thirst I did the worst that I could do me Highed with the Ides, yeah‚ that shit threw me
For a loss 'cause I was praying to the porcelain god I'll never drink again if I can make it out alive

[Chorus]
I love to smoke the bonger, (but that's my bidness)
I love to tap the keg From Philly with the Phillies, (but that's my bidness)

Worry about your own damn thing

[Verse 2: Oatie]
It was one of those days for lounging and carousing
Talking politics with 40's and pounding
Wasn't feeling up to the Temple Challenge
More into improving my killer rolling talents
With the dip of the herb I speak the verbs ya never heard
The medium is the rap and the gig is the curb
Brother talking hoes like he's vicin' all the vermin
But I saw him at the peep show playing Pee Wee Herman
Mickey fickey you ya mickey ficker
Ya was choking ya chicken but ya chicken got quicker
And sicker from greasing while I'm just pleasing
Myself with a blunt and ya know ya should be ceasing
That bootie-bootie true blues 'cause goodie-goodie two shoes Don't like ya bad breath from kissing all the coo coos
Who claim any cock'll do but cock-a-doodle-doo I got my herb and my verbs and some ale ta get me thru
[Chorus 2]
I drink Old Crow, (but that's my bidness)
I smoke the fat bones (but that's my bidness)
From the day I la bo, (but that's my bidness)

Worry about ya own damn thing

[Verse 3: Swayzack]
So lets step down to South Street and pick up some cid If nobody's down there I know this other kid
His name's John Hummel, he's got a fat bundle
The green's what I mean guaranteed to make you humble
So lets smoke til we stumble and fall down on our face
If the hoodlums want to rumble then we'll have to roll the place
I don't need a base hit but a case would be the shit
Malt liquor works quicker, too much'll make ya sick
Now we're all feeling nice that's precisely how we like it
But never indulging in a vice when we mic it
The goats ain't saints, so don't paint no pictures
'Cause nobody's perfect, if ya think so ask ya sister
'Cause she can pound a 40 faster than you and I
My boys call her Shorty but she likes to get hi, so do I

[Chorus 3]
I smoke fatties, (but that's my bidness)
I pound forties (but that's my bidness)
I drop cid, kid (but that's my bidness)
Worry about ya own damn thing