Crocker - Meade, Speed, Weed lyrics

(Verse 1) /Blue Moon draft, that too...eh?/ f** it, slide me that and my Newport pack/ /Hey everybody! I'm socially awkward/ Like a groom & a groom at a Protestant altar/ 'Feez, Was Jesus an Emam?/ Hair like mine? I mean, sh**, uh, KEG STAND!/ I rock the party while your girl's gettin' naughty/ Then I rock her body 'till she's glued to the potty/ Hey DJ! The f** is a dub-step?/ Nevermind...I think that's enough yet/ White people...W.T.F.?"/ Coupled with the "X" that sh**'s making me sea sick/ Smash...bet you believe yet/ Who everybody bites, but nobody respects/ Heat, you feel the degrees yet?/ Thumb to the knuckle, you feel my degrees yet?/ (Hook) /Meade, speed, weed/ /Meade, speed, weed/ /Simple as can be, that is all I need/ /Meade, speed, weed/ /Meade, speed, weed/ /Simple as can be, that is all I need/ (Verse 2) Meade, you know: "Drink," like preferably beer/ Or "Burr" if you prefer, but I think that that's weird/ Add XO, Adderall, and I'm gravy/ Max Bigaveli, start feeling wavy/ Tune into the Factor and I scream at the TV/ Like that bald motherf**er can actually see me/ Uh, I meant "The Shore," see my girl J-Wowsers/ Copyright, Kronkite, put my Bic to the Bowser/ Slang so hard that I'm seemin' incredulous/ Bread with my wine, my swagger is Methodist/ Like...guess who's back...again/ Crocker's back! Yeah, no, that's him.../ Like "Fist pump bros! We don't love them hoes!"/ And I'm too f**ing poor for a HMO/ If I put this out...does it make me slow?/ (Well...does it?) (Hook) /Meade, speed, weed/ /Meade, speed, weed/ /Simple as can be, that is all I need/ /Meade, speed, weed/ /Meade, speed, weed/ /Simple as can be, that is all I need/ (Verse 3) Who likes beer pong?! You like beer pong?!/ I like a fat a** and a beautiful clear thong/ Joe Rogan stoned, eating a deer dong/ A.D.H.D. meds adorning my beer foam/ Five-Percenters teach "The majority's ignorant,"...not that that will play to your s**ual benefit/ In fact, try talking, respond with some confidence/ Show her that you listen, man, pay her some compliments/ Ay, Mitch Daniels, you look like a corpse/ Pale as all hell, with a mouth like a horse/ I mean...Satellite! Back cup and it's over/ Here's to hoping your mom still looks good sober/