I was chilling in the bottle, at one in the A.M.
Smoking on a blunt, watching poppi eat trim.
Tongue deep in, between shorties two lips.
His hands were on her ass, elevating her hips.
I flow so crisp, spit raspy with a lisp.
This porn shit has me, feeling so marvelous.
Blessing cannabis, watching the barfly's walk by
The beat was hot before, now I'm making it fry.
Feeling so high, watching tits clits and thighs.
Making me wanna dive, for some Eskimo pie.
Now it's two forty-five, and the bottle is packed.
If I leave my table now, there's no making it back.
Loving this track, jazz and Roberta Flack.
Maybe not, but I know it's something like that.
Matter of fact, it just maybe Sade.
Her smoove groves, are known to take your troubles away.

CHORUS (2X)

Late night at the bottle, porn on the television.
Cutting through the brain, like a surgical incision.
Causing double vision, and it's a long walk home.
I got beats and rhymes, and No microphone.

It's three thirty, and shorties sitting at the bar.
Caramel complexion, brown eyes and no scars.
Shining like a red dwarf star, from twenty yards.
Body lighting up the room, like a quasar.
Cherry red lips, wearing a tight pair of Lee's.
Five six slim hips, walking over to me.
I'm sipping my Heineken, puffing white widow trees.
I fly through skies, like my name was Haley's.
Best believe I'm fucking tonight, if possible.
You wanna sit next to me ma, what's stopping you.
What do I do, I'm Tyger Vinum Mister Poizonous.
Artist writer poet, worldwide lyricist.
Free style arsonist, but we can talk about that later.
Right now hit this blunt and get high like an elevator.
She liked that, then told me her name.
Elaine, and up close she looked kind of plain.

Now it's four A.M. and I'm drunk as fuck.
Shorty talks like a dime, but I know she's a duck.
Hard on her luck, but I wasn't giving her no ends.
For a drink suck, finger fuck or skins.
Lets be friends has always been, my motto.
You pay for your own drinks, but still swallow.
I spit hollow, tip game so she'll follow.
Calling me her general, like Collin Powell.
The bar was closing, time for me to go home.
Smoke a bone, throw on some beats and just zone.
She hit me with the digits to her cellular phone.
Fiending like a demon, for me to make her moan.
She had just flown, In from the Ukraine.
Outside she was on her knees giving me brain.
It felt insane, exploding like candy rain.
Tomorrow I might call Elaine, so we can do the same.

CHORUS (2X)

Late night at the bottle, porn on the television.
Cutting through the brain, like a surgical incision.
Causing double vision, and it's a long walk home.
I got beats and rhymes, and No microphone.