[Intro: Kelela]
Smoke out my window
On our way home
Blowing smoke out my window
On our way home

[Verse: Tom Scott]
Woke up feelin' like a new man
Bruce Jenner style, so I pinned her down, high, blowing smoke out my
Window, giving into impulse
When my lady gets home see me on Nintendo Wii
Like we just playing Zelda all day, don't know how to explain
That I need to get high now and again for me
I used to blaze the weed, like a basic need
Greenpeace at my door like, "Save the trees!"
Now, I only do it on the weekend
But Wednesday don't count, right? Least I ain't outright
Stoned on the dole no more, the joint rotates
The same way I rolled it for, something like a
Charizard versus Bulbasaur: leaves really getting burnt
But we never getting turnover for another day
So today, I gotta blow smoke
I'm not in no mood for nobody throwing salt
'Less it's on my chips with tartare, can't hear
Nothing but the bass, blazed as, fuck a craft beer
While I'm here, R.I.P. to my homie Bart Bear
Been a hard last year, so I spark grass here
That's my medicine, high as I ever been
The weed make me feel intelligent, to tell me I'm talented
Like my science teacher never did, clever kid who never did
Pass nothing that he never lit
Aluminum foil was my favourite element
No idea spelling it but I'm sure selling it
Eighteen wrapping 25's on the benefit
I went from Tom Scott, worked up to Tom Edison
Lightbulbs flash above my head, eyes blood red
Bud-head forever, my bong never got cobwebs on it
I'm on it, a diagnosed weed-a-holic
That hydroponic got me hypo on it
Like a comet, look, I ain't tryna write no sonnet, man
I know that line sucks alright, so what? It's just
A song that I wrote just to rhyme, no topic
I heard the beat was nice, thought I might flow on it
Just for Kelston to Avondale, you come braggin' 'bout
That smack around here, someone smack you out Pacquiao style
Blaow, blaow, happy now? What you wan' chat about? (Huh?)
Rappers all rappin' 'bout rap, what's all that about?
Peace to Jordache, M*A*S*H, they gonna crash
Till your bar tab's ass, tighter than your broad's gash
Used to do that grab and dash for cash, horsed as
Back in Fourth Ave, talked more gacks than talkback
Now, I rap for my money, and I'm done with all that
I grew up poor, but now'days I pour 'gnac
Used to be some LynnMall mall rats, now All Blacks
Play our tracks, pure hash in my sock drawer stash
[Refrain: Tom Scott, Kelela]
Blowing smoke out my window, ayo
Yeah
Blowing smoke out my window
Ayo
Blowing smoke out my window
On our way home
Blowing smoke out my window
On our way home
Blowing smoke