Don’t pretend ya’ didn’t see me. You were lookin my direction since you walked in the room and I was showin’ the stanky dank to Rollo. That’s right. I got that Purp. You been enjoyin’ her smooth aroma. And I’m tellin’ you right now, son, smells ain’t free.
I shouldn’t have to tell you that! Where you from anyway! You’re in Cannatown Proper now, Jimbo. You never hearda Purp? My name’s Purp. I’M Purp. P-R-P, PURP. I’m the fella that’s listenin’ when you start askin’ Homes here what he’s got available in a violet hue. Violet hue? That’s like askin’ a grey duck who’s a goose!
See everyone ‘round these parts just says, “Purp?” Then I say “What, you need Purp? I got that Purp. I got that Purp right here.” But this ain’t just any Purp. This is like a swig of pure mash. Picked on the edges of Grape Gorge. Hand-picked! P-R-P, Purrrr-urp!
See, that’s why smells ain’t free.
And I saw you treatin’ your shnoz to a couple whiffs. Pull out that cash, son, I also accept bullion--gold. New customer, old customer. Smells ain’t free, not never.
Y’all need that Purp? I got that right here.
The man who wrote "Wynona's Big Brown Beaver" and the son of the man who…
The more I listen to this album, the more my mind arrives at…
Nordic November Week Two. Today: Sweden.
The Radio Dept. have a…