[Mr. Eon]
 Weed, weed, what a relief
 Where will my eighth a day habit cease?
 This an agricultural service announcement
 You can treat it, and you can douse it
 Let us begin now with the plant
 The way that it gets to your blunt in hand
 See the herb doesn't grow fast enough for man
 so for his lye, he makes a master plan
 He has bowls to make the weed grow quicker
 Through the hydroponic, the weed gets sicker
 Twenty-one different soils are dumped
 into the pot in one big lump
 So just before it dies, it dries
 in my back closet, with no moss and flies
 Off with the bud, we cut it, weigh it, and bag it
 and there it is for your local street addict
 Green and buddy, an ounce condensely packed
 Smoke it up and catch a heart attack
 Now come on now man let's be for real
 You are what you smoke is the way I feel but
 the weed and blunt administration'll
 have you thinkin lye is the perfect combination
 See heads be livin under fear and stress
 wonderin where they get the best
 Now beer and bless can become a part of you
 in your cells and dome, this is true
 So when the plant is grown, believe it
 Sell some to your man or smoke for free kid
 Roll it up, and begin seasonin
 Then you sit down, and begin seein shit
 In your body, Blackwoods, a Phillie, a Dutcher
 All the need and fiend for another
 See any smoke's addictive by any man
 Even the brownish rag it's all the same
 The alchemist'll have my ass, strung out
 on the indo and Northern Lights no doubt
 Think you got your weed habit on lock?
 Tell yourself you gonna try and stop
 smokin weed and you'll see you need the tree
 It's the number one drug on the street
 Not coke, cause that's a category of dope
 but the green leaf, that I smoke with wreath
 Now herb brings life and real bad breath
 Smoke all your shit and what you got left?
 Absolutely high, the sedative
 Watchin the movie Friday, with a spliff
 by Chris Tucker, that high motherfucker
 For anybody, Northern or Southerner
 See how many blunts we gotta pump up fatter?
 How many seeds gotta fall in the batter?
 How many chickens wanna smoke what you smoke?
 And how many heads ask for just one toke?
 Now they'll consume, the local dread could care less
 He'll sell you donkey shit and say it's FRESH
 for ninety-nine, you suckerrrrrrrrrs!
 High & Mighty, Mr. Eon, Mighty Mi

 Get your own shit, get your own shit man
 This my shit, I smoke my shit you smoke your shit
 Then we'll be fine