Purist

Songtekst

PURIST IN THE VALLEY [Intro — slow acoustic guitar] There’s a little town where the tall pines grow, Where the Yuba runs cold and the good folks know, You can fake a lot of things in California these days, But you can’t fake fire… And you damn sure can’t fake the haze. Down in Grass Valley, underneath that mountain sky, There’s a crew called Purist Still doing things the old-school way. [Verse 1] Ryan Haley’s at the wheel, CEO in the chair, Built it from a vision with some smoke in the air. He said, “Keep it clean, boys, let the plant speak true, No fake terps in the tank, just the strain coming through.” Then Dberg’s in the lab underneath those lights, Chasing cold terpenes deep into the night. He knows every valve, every number, every sound, Turning Grass Valley flower into the best oil around. [Chorus] We’re Purist in the Valley, Where the pine trees touch the sky. Where the resin runs like gold And we still remember why. No shortcuts, no bullshit, Just the plant and what it gave. From the foothills of California, We put Purist on the name. Yeah, we’re Purist in the Valley… And we wouldn’t have it any other way. [Verse 2] Eric Rake-straw’s on the highway, another town, another store, Director of Sales, knocking on another door. Got a case in the truck and a handshake ready too, He ain’t selling you a story — he’ll sit and smoke with you. From Sacramento down to L.A., running up that 5, Trying to keep the orders moving and the damn dream alive. He’ll tell you, “We ain’t the cheapest,” with a grin across his face, “But smoke what’s in that package… Then tell me who can take our place.” [Verse 3] Mario Reyes is the Swiss Army knife, If something needs doing, that man brings it to life. Give him three damn problems and a half-broken plan, By five o’clock somehow it’s working again. Chris French is the Chief, steady as they come, Keeping everybody moving when the long days run. When the room gets loud and the wheels come loose, French keeps the train rolling and cuts through the excuse. [Bridge — stripped down] And then there’s Andrew Hochwald… Lord knows every family’s got one. Company mooch with a professional grin, Shows up when the food does and somehow gets in. Never misses lunch, never misses a chair, If somebody else bought it… Andrew’s already there. But hell, he’s one of ours, So pour that bastard another round. [Big Final Chorus] WE’RE PURIST IN THE VALLEY, WHERE THE PINE TREES TOUCH THE SKY, WHERE THE RESIN RUNS LIKE GOLD AND WE STILL REMEMBER WHY. Ryan built the vision, Dberg keeps it clean, Rake-straw keeps it moving From the mountains to the scene. Mario’s got the answers, French keeps the whole thing tight, And Hochwald’s somewhere mooching Probably eating free tonight. We’re Purist in the Valley, Born underneath these pines. Twenty-five years around this plant And we’re still learning all the time. No additives, no fake shit, No corners getting shaved. Just respect for California And the plant that paved the way. [Outro — slow guitar] So if you ever make it north, Where the Sierra foothills rise, Come find us in Grass Valley Underneath those smoky skies. We’ll open up the doors, Pull a chair up, stay awhile. Because Purist ain’t just something That we printed on a box… It’s how we live. It’s how we work. And it’s what we smoke. Purist Extracts. Grass Valley, California.