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Weed Models

Zaza expert

I'm so fried beyond repair, I straight-up tried to grab the blunt off my GMod character’s model—Ukrainians really put ancient wizardry into their packs

That grass hit so divine, lungs baptized in pure flame—no water needed, I dry smoked that bitch like a prophet in the desert.

Mixed that Purple Electric with coke, called that shit Nagasaki Carbonara—one hit had me seeing sound and hearing colors, conversing with ancestors I ain’t even related to

Just like in Fallout: New Vegas, brewed myself the perfect coffee—all I needed was a coffee cup, coffee pot, 1 Coyote Tobacco Chew, 1 Honey Mesquite Pod—but instead of that weak-ass mesquite and tobacco, I threw in some medium-rare, burnt-to-perfection ZAZA and a dose of that cyan spherical shit from the Netherlandian mountains behind the ocean, guarded by Neptune herself—took one sip and saw the console commands of reality

My soul marinated in a thousand years of tar, all thanks to this ultraviolet squid ink ZAZA—one hit and I’m coughing up ancient curses and forgotten dialects

Hit that Quantum ZAZA Ultra Deluxe Pack, next thing I know, I’m arguing with my own reflection, and that mf making some valid points

Smoked that pinkish-green zaza, and it had me spinnin’ harder than a fetus gettin’ the fast track to the sewer system—no respawn, no second chance

Just took a hit of that purple-crimson cush, shit got me fading faster than its 17 year old mother tryna flush away her regrets—no love, no lullabies

I sparked up that Azerbaijani ZAZA, mountain-grown, blood-fed—seven virgins, seven hills, seven hours—took one hit and heard the ancestors whisperin’ in tongues