3.5 Lyrics

3.5 up on my Richter scale

I Like to smoke a lot

So why would you roll a lil blunt

This wood I gotta fill A lot

Get fried befo the bag then I Gotta go and punch the clock

I love to get money so the hustle won't ever stop

Grew up in the hood Og smokin told me that I should not

I became a man The trenches like the school of hard knocks

When I be spinnin late tell bae can she leave the door unlocked

She like boy who you wit, Man I'm out here man it's just me and my glock

I know a white boy named Chris

And I still fuck with black kris too (Squabs)

Them boys hella laid back aint no drama we be okay cool

If you don't believe that I be chilling ask Dougs what I do (Dougs)

I be sitting back smokin sippin wine like I'm in LA DUDE

And if you ain't tryna live a good

Life its gone show thru you

I Wear my heart up on my sleeve they told Me that's what I shouldn't do

And If you don't believe in yourself then why would they fuck with you

If you don't believe in yourself why would they fuck with you

3.5 up on my Richter scale

I Like to smoke a lot

So why would you roll a lil blunt

This wood I gotta fill A lot

Get fried befo the bag then I Gotta go punch the clock

I love to get money so the hustle won't ever stop

Before I let a opp nigga

Catch me I'll turn his ass to smoke

Roll me a luh back wood of the gas this be the fire dope

I'm TALKIN bout the green boy nah not no fuckin coke!

And This be a luh Rollin tune and ima show ya how to blow

His homie got hit wit a choppa he can't ain't even retaliate

How you be in da kitchen but don't know how to wake n bake

You wasn't in there wit the pot so how the fuck you get the cake

All the real niggas getting money got they hands up because they relate