[Verse 1: Lee Scott]

Come and party with a fiend, mad Charlie like I'm Sheen
Raps Harmony Korine, I pop a Garry, smoke a Henry
Then phone an Eddy now hold my bevvy like a Joey
While I roll a Jeffery, the type to strike a Humphrey
Bogart the Mary Warner an then claim I barely saw her
Burning herbs with a purple aura
The strange smells scare your daughter
Pass a chip for the splab of crit
I'm on some four candles shit
With a bag of tricks to make Paul Daniels trip
It's simple lick your finger tip and dip
An idiot proof plan for hitting the roof
Like whoa! Take a breath and rest, donate whatever's left
No pretty please with a cherry on the top
Just a chop, chop! Or I'm having everybody off
What?! Knock, knock, there's no punch to the joke
Just a couple of funky motherfuckers looking to smoke

[Hook]
Cold, make money, money, money
Sag, make, money, money, money X8

[Verse 2: Salar]
Yo, I ain't having it
On some cold sagging shit
Rum, 'dro, pass the crit
So I can go gung ho, chat some drunk, slow bragging dumb flow
You could close-caption it
But won't master it, you punk ho
Ravenous with the Funk Soul
Cold skunk glow: miraculous
Unanimous cannabis paralysis of massive parameters
Unknown to analysts is grabbing us
It's proving the Theory of Sativalution analysis
As the solution catalyst for Reeferlution
Which will not be televised
Unlike the pollution genocide
Devolution of the mental kind
I'm getting by head-in-sky
Very high on cloud nine and now I'm gone
I box it off from outside one

[Hook]
Cold, make money, money, money
Sag, make, money, money, money X8