How High Lyrics

Method Man & Redman

credits


publisher: ©Universal Music Publishing Group
writers: Reggie Noble, Erick Sermon, Clifford Smith
release date:
popularity : 80 users have visited this page.

Lyrics

Excuse me as I kiss the sky
Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full a rye
Who the **** wanna die for their culture
Stalk the dead body like a vulture, Ticalion, hmm
Blacker than your blackest stallion
Hit your housing projects
I represent yo Shaolin my *****
Now yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow
It be going down, diggy diggy down diggy down down

While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse
When I raise my trigger finger all y'all *****s hit the deck
Cause ain't no need for that, hustlers and hardcore
Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs
The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it
With more Fruitier Loops than that Toucan Sam *****
Plus the Bombazee got me wide

****ing with us

Is a straight suicide

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4
3, 2, murder 1 lyric at your door
Tical bring it to that *** raw
Breaking all the rules like glass jaws
*****, you got to get mines to get yours
****a we don't need no rap tour
I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture
More than you bargained for
Tical I stays open like an all night store
For real I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel
Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill
And end your existence, M-E-T
Ain't no use for resistance, H-O-D

I bees the ultimate rush to any ***** on dust
The Egyptian Musk used to have me pull mad sluts
I shift like a clutch with the Ruck
Examine my nuts, I don't stop till I get enough
Your **** broke down, light your flare
Since the darkside tears you into Hollywood Squares
Six million ways to die, so I chose
Made it six million and one with your eyes closed
The blindfold cold, so you can feel the wrath
And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey-***
And yo my man (Tical) hit me now
*****es used to play me now they can't forget me now
They get me mad, I rock the spot, check Glock
Empty off a licking off a hip-hop
**** the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block
How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot

Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane
It's the Funk Doctor Spot smoking buddha on a train
HOW HIGH So high that I can kiss the sky
HOW SICK So sick that you can suck my ****
Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane
Recognize Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed
HOW HIGH So High that I can kiss the sky
HOW SICK So Sick that you can suck my ****

Till my man Raider Ruckus come home
It ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home
Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone
We don't need your dirt weed we got our ****ing own
Check it I brings havoc with my hectic
Bring the Pain lyrics screaming for the antiseptic
Moving on your left kid, and I'm Method
Out my ****ing dome piece, plus I got no love for the beast
Hailing from the big East Coast, where *****s pack toast
Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats

Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block
You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped

As I run a mile with a racist
My style was born in the pissy stair cases
Dig it, eff a rap critic
He talk about it while I live it
If Red got the blunt, I'm the second one to hit it

Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and Glocks in ya
Enter the center, lyrics bang like ricochet rabbit
I brings havoc with an A-K matic, rolling blunts an all day habit
I get it on like Smif'n'Wes who clicks the best
Punks take a sip and test, who split your vest
The funk phenomenon, I'm bombing you like Lebanon
Blow canals of Panama just off stamina
Styles not to be ****ed with or played with
**** them pretty hoes, I love those Section 8 Bit-ches
Hitting switches, twisting wigs with
Fat radical mathematical type scriptures
I dig up in your planets like Digga boo
Scared you, blew you to smitha-reens
**** the Marines, I got machines
That like to spit and read Mad Magazine
I fly more heads than Continental
Wreck ya five times like U.S. Air off an instrumental
Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks
But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks
I breaks em up proper
Ask Biggie Smalls Who Shot Ya
Funk doctor, with the twelve Gauge Mossberg
Look I got the tools like Rickle
To make your mind tickle
For the nine nickle

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