| A teeny weeny midget fell in a well
|
| I knew way back that my shit would sell
|
| Greg Nice, the name ring bells
|
| Call me Mr. Clientele
|
| You can’t play me, because I don’t gel
|
| At the Taj Mahal I met Orson Welles
|
| Schizo I get so blitzo, yo
|
| I write my own rap to collect the dough
|
| Show after show after show fosho
|
| Pass the blunt I’ll be good to go
|
| Paranoia less Aberdeen
|
| I like my wheaties ripe and green
|
| Steppin' on the scene with the meanest lean
|
| Smooth B, AKA the dean
|
| Laidback, diggin' a scene
|
| I’m Smooth B and I’m squeaky clean
|
| Keen, you know what I mean?
|
| And when I was in high school I was like the dean
|
| Had a lot of friends, had a lot of laughs
|
| Knew all the students, including the staffs
|
| And every morning before I thought
|
| Through my lunchbox I would snort
|
| Paranoia, bill destroyer
|
| Tax your brain and don’t need a lawyer
|
| P-noid like Sigmund Freud
|
| Nice & Smooth you can’t avoid paranoia
|
| Paranoia, makes me feel schizophrenic
|
| Sometimes I’m freaky, sometimes I’m romantic
|
| I’ll be up dust, in God I trust
|
| I puff the Buddha bless so my heart won’t bust
|
| Head rush, simple and plain
|
| From puffin' all that Mary Jane
|
| The last car, the 6 train
|
| (Yo, G, how’s that weed?)
|
| Yo, same ol' thang
|
| Buddha, sess, and even skunk
|
| On my way to Shaolin, I puff a blunt with a monk
|
| I knew a girl named Gloria
|
| Gloria, she lives in historia
|
| She like to puff cheeba
|
| She said she really loved him, but no one believed her
|
| Cheeba had a homeboy feely
|
| And when they get together, they really get illy
|
| They used to rush to her a head so crazily
|
| Then she closed her eyes so lazily
|
| Stretched out on a couch all void
|
| Put on a walkman and listen to Pink Floyd
|
| And all of a sudden she’d think, her heart stopped
|
| Jumped up and let her walkman drop
|
| Runnin' a bath into the cold water faucet
|
| Realized she ain’t lost it
|
| Dang, she’s p-noid |