Must Be The Ganja
Eminem · Relapse [2009]
INTRO:
I feel like dancing, I feel like dancing/
I smell something in the air that's making me high/
I said I smell something in the air that's making me high/
VERSE 1:
(Okay here we go) do-re-me-fa-so-fa-so-la-ti-da-so/
Lyrical Roscoe kick back a Tabasco/
You motherfuckers must just not know the tic-toc so/
Time to show you the most kick-ass flow in the cosmos/
Picasso with a pick-axe a sick asshole/
Tic-tac-toe 'cross your six-pack with X-acto/
Knives, stranglin' wives with thick lasso/
Big bags of the grass, Zig Zags, I'm with the Doc, so/
You know how that go- skull and the cross bones/
This is poison to boys and girls who do not know/
You do not wanna try this at home my little vato/
This is neither the time nor the place to get macho/
So crack a six-pack, sit back with some nachos/
Maybe some popcorn watch the show, and just rock slow/
It's not what you expected, nor what you thought so/
'Bout time that you wake the fuck up smell the pot smoke/
CHORUS:
It must be the ganja, it's the marijuana/
That's creeping up on me why I'm so high/
Maybe it's the Henny that has gotten in me/
Whatever's got into me I don't mind/
I said it's the ganja it's the marijuana/
That's creeping up on me why I'm so high/
Maybe it's the Henny that has gotten in me/
Whatever's got into me I don't mind/
VERSE 2:
Your dreams are getting fulfilled, ooh I'm literally getting a chill/
Spitting at will, me and Dre have just finished splitting a pill/
Your submitting to skill, sitting still I'm admitting I'm beginning to feel/
Like I don't think anyone's real/
Faced with a dilemma, I can be Dahli Lama/
And be calm or bring drama step beyond a Jeffery Dahmer/
Please don't upset me mamma, yer lookin' sexy mamma/
Don't know if it's the la-la or the rum and Pepsi mamma/
Don't wanna end up inside my refrigerator freezer/
Be used as extra topping the next time I make a pizza/
How many people you know who can name every serial killer who ever existed in a row?/
Put 'em in chronological order beginning with Jack the Ripper/
Name the time and place from the body the bag the zipper/
Location of the woods where the body was dragged and then dumped/
The trunk that they were stuffed in the model the make the plate/
And which model which lake they found her and how they attacked the victim/
Say which murder weapon was used to do what in which one?/
Which knife and which gun, what kid what wife and which nun?/
Don't stop I like this it's fun, the fuckin' night's just begun/
CHORUS
VERSE 3:
When I'm behind the mic, dynamite's what it's kinda like/
You're stuck with the same stick that your tryin' to light/
Behing the boards sits Dre, legends are made this way/
Isn't it safe to say, this is the way it should be?/
Maybe you need some lyric serum syrup for your symptoms/
Here's a dosage of the antidote now you give him some/
He can give her some, she can give hime some, get behind a Linn Drum/
Make up a beat and cure the sucker syndrome/
The spinnin' drum when it comes to lyrics and pennin' some/
Starting from scratch and ending up at the endin' of/
Capable of winning a Pulitzer so unbelievable it's a/
Titanium cranium that's full of sur-/
Prises when the smoke rises right before your very own eyes/
You stare into your stereos high/
Good evening, this isn't even a weed thing/
I ain't even smoke anything I ain't even drinking/
CHORUS
I feel like dancing, I feel like dancing/
I smell something in the air that's making me high/
I said I smell something in the air that's making me high/
VERSE 1:
(Okay here we go) do-re-me-fa-so-fa-so-la-ti-da-so/
Lyrical Roscoe kick back a Tabasco/
You motherfuckers must just not know the tic-toc so/
Time to show you the most kick-ass flow in the cosmos/
Picasso with a pick-axe a sick asshole/
Tic-tac-toe 'cross your six-pack with X-acto/
Knives, stranglin' wives with thick lasso/
Big bags of the grass, Zig Zags, I'm with the Doc, so/
You know how that go- skull and the cross bones/
This is poison to boys and girls who do not know/
You do not wanna try this at home my little vato/
This is neither the time nor the place to get macho/
So crack a six-pack, sit back with some nachos/
Maybe some popcorn watch the show, and just rock slow/
It's not what you expected, nor what you thought so/
'Bout time that you wake the fuck up smell the pot smoke/
CHORUS:
It must be the ganja, it's the marijuana/
That's creeping up on me why I'm so high/
Maybe it's the Henny that has gotten in me/
Whatever's got into me I don't mind/
I said it's the ganja it's the marijuana/
That's creeping up on me why I'm so high/
Maybe it's the Henny that has gotten in me/
Whatever's got into me I don't mind/
VERSE 2:
Your dreams are getting fulfilled, ooh I'm literally getting a chill/
Spitting at will, me and Dre have just finished splitting a pill/
Your submitting to skill, sitting still I'm admitting I'm beginning to feel/
Like I don't think anyone's real/
Faced with a dilemma, I can be Dahli Lama/
And be calm or bring drama step beyond a Jeffery Dahmer/
Please don't upset me mamma, yer lookin' sexy mamma/
Don't know if it's the la-la or the rum and Pepsi mamma/
Don't wanna end up inside my refrigerator freezer/
Be used as extra topping the next time I make a pizza/
How many people you know who can name every serial killer who ever existed in a row?/
Put 'em in chronological order beginning with Jack the Ripper/
Name the time and place from the body the bag the zipper/
Location of the woods where the body was dragged and then dumped/
The trunk that they were stuffed in the model the make the plate/
And which model which lake they found her and how they attacked the victim/
Say which murder weapon was used to do what in which one?/
Which knife and which gun, what kid what wife and which nun?/
Don't stop I like this it's fun, the fuckin' night's just begun/
CHORUS
VERSE 3:
When I'm behind the mic, dynamite's what it's kinda like/
You're stuck with the same stick that your tryin' to light/
Behing the boards sits Dre, legends are made this way/
Isn't it safe to say, this is the way it should be?/
Maybe you need some lyric serum syrup for your symptoms/
Here's a dosage of the antidote now you give him some/
He can give her some, she can give hime some, get behind a Linn Drum/
Make up a beat and cure the sucker syndrome/
The spinnin' drum when it comes to lyrics and pennin' some/
Starting from scratch and ending up at the endin' of/
Capable of winning a Pulitzer so unbelievable it's a/
Titanium cranium that's full of sur-/
Prises when the smoke rises right before your very own eyes/
You stare into your stereos high/
Good evening, this isn't even a weed thing/
I ain't even smoke anything I ain't even drinking/
CHORUS
Must Be The Ganja
Released on Eminem's 2009 album Relapse, 'Must Be The Ganja' stands as a pivotal track in the rapper's evolution toward a more mature sonic palette. Following the intense, aggressive style of his earlier work, this recording adopts a looser, jazz-inflected beat that reflects a shift in both his musical direction and personal narrative. The song explores themes of paranoia and the psychological toll of his public life, delivered with a vocal performance that balances vulnerability with his signature rhythmic precision. As a key component of the Relapse era, it demonstrates Eminem's ability to deconstruct his own persona, moving beyond the 'Slim Shady' caricature to address the complexities of fame and mental health with a nuanced, introspective approach that resonated deeply with listeners.