[Intro: Mick Jenkins]
And I (Uh)
And I
And I keep rollin' up (Ooh, ooh), hm
And I keep rollin' up

[Chorus: Mick Jenkins]
Weed blowin' down, weed blowin' up
Hot air in me, we goin' up, still is
No feet goin' up, fees goin' up, we pourin' up
We throwin' up gang signs

[Verse 1: Mick Jenkins]
Trees going up in flames, find us a forest fire every smoke break
We opened up weak space, n***a, we gave our hangtime, we tryna reclaim time
We finna rebuild, no Home Depot with us, people with us that come from the FaceTime
Low-key like the bassline, got smoke and I keep rollin' up
Yeah, I keep rollin' up
Keep gettin' high, beats gettin' low, we gettin' by
I can't complain, I wouldn't know how to make you feel me
I know they can smell me, though
I know they can see a motherfucker comin' from a mile away
I ain't sendin' smoke signals, big smoke send signals either way, don't it?
Put a eighth in it, motherfucker got some weight on it and some wax in it
Don't play with it, all the way from concentrate with it, juice like fresh OJ
It's the tangie that I stay with, soon as they hit it, I keep rollin' up
[Chorus: Mick Jenkins]
Weed blowin' down, weed blowin' up
Hot air in me, we goin' up, still is (Gas)
No feet goin' up, fees goin' up, we pourin' up
We throwin' up gang signs (We throwin' up gang signs)

[Post-Chorus: Mick Jenkins & JID]
And I keep rollin' up, huh
And I keep rollin' up (Uh)

[Verse 2: JID]
I roll this one for the road, two for the show, three for the dough
3:45, got a fifty-piece from the wing spot (Geek-geek-geeked out my mind)
And I'm coming back with food and some ganja
But it's only me and you in this ride (Look)
Just a little bitty piece of weed'll make a n***a feel like he ain't going off the deep end
I ain't even been asleep in 'bout a week (Mm-mm), didn't even think about it
We was at the bottom, I was guided by the beats, guided by the guns, guided by the streets
Where the money? Said he got about a week to get it all, got him by a leash
Try to find a lil' peace but the mystery to me is unsolved
Take a breather, hit the reefer, smoke cough through the blunt fog (Mm-mm)
Got a stash full of big gas, I can tell you what they run for
But I don't trap so it won't matter, everybody do a blunt toast
Like the white folks when they clink glasses, told my n***a at the front, "Toast"
So I move slow but I think faster (Mm-mm), 12 knocking at the front door, shh
Be quiet, keep passin', I don't wanna see nobody that I know and love layin' in a deep casket
But through all the stress and madness (Mm-mm)
A n***a keep rollin' up
[Verse 3: Mick Jenkins]
It's a whole lotta green, all kinds of green in this bitch
I understand why it infatuate
You can be in limelights too, all you gotta do is exaggerate
Smokin on some of the Chartreuse
I guess n***as can too oversaturate with this hue
See blue faces and jaded eyes
And olive branches and blatant lies
You can get this too
(Colour theory)