Herbal T – 32 at the BBQ Lyrics

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Peace, namaste, Herbal T, gantale
Got your girl taking out her cell like 'chame me'
Hit me on the phone next day like I'm a man
Took her to the crib, all I gotta say is mama lay
I'mma say, what I wanna say
Like when Michael Jackson said mama-say mama-sa makusa
Not gangsta, more Japanese, Yakuza
Hit the sushi bar and the taco shop
We gets ill
And no there's no remedy
Trees reminiscing of those of Yosemite
Man we bros is so friendly
That wherever we go, it's all amigos, and no enemies
That's my true mission as a musician
Crews listen when I style on 'em like a beautician
Herbal T got the Midas touch
Like Guru said man we much too much, illustious
The stuff we bust got the school kids
Giving all they money for they lunch to us
And the weed heads wanna roll blunts for us
And your girlfriend wanna go to brunch with us
She wanna roll downtown for lattes
I told her I prefer 24 ounce Tecates
The world traveler, never found at my place
In Argentina washing steaks down with mates
The cocaine spitter, proclaimed the winner
Damage or break an amateur fake beginner
Certified raw on the m-i-c
They study my rhymes at Harvard and MIT
Speakers shake in your car when I spit raps
Gimme a break I got bars like Kit-Kats
Shit you would die to bust
Wax and Herbal T, fly with us

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