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Lyrics for How High by Man Method:
| | | Artist: | Man Method |
| | Album: | Tical 2000 Judgementday | | Track: | How High | | | | Date Added: | 18/10/2007 | | Views: | 101 | | | | Lyrics: | How High"
(feat. Redman)
[Intro:]
Takin it from the top?
Tippy?
Tippy?
How High?....
The Ultimate High....
[Verse One: Method
Man]
Scuse me as I kiss the sky
Sing a song of six pence, a pocet full a
rye
Who the fuck wanna die for their culture
Stalk the dead body like a vulture
Tical
get, HMMM
Blacker than your blackest stallion
Hit your house'n projects
I represent
the Shaolin my nigga
Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow
It be goin down, diggy diggy
down diggy down down
[Verse Two: Redman]
While the planets and the stars and
the moons collapse
When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!
Cause aint
no need for that, hustlers and hardcores
Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs
The
Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it
With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch
Plus,
the Bombazee got me wild
(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide
[Verse Three: Method
Man]
10 9 8 7 6 5 4
3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door
Tical bring it to that ass
raw
Breakin all the rules like glass jaws
Nigga, you got to get mine to get
yours
Fucka, we dont need no rap tour
Id rather kick the facts and catch you with the
rap-ture
More than you bargained for
Tical, that stays open like an all nite
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 existance, M-E-T
Aint no use for resistance,
H-O-D
[Verse Four: Redman]
I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on
dust
The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts
I shift like a clutch with the
Ruck
Examine my nuts, I dont stop till I get enough
Your shit broke down, light your
flare
Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares
6 million ways to die, so I
chose
Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed
The blindfold, cold, so you can feel
the rap
And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass
And yo my man (Tical) hit
me now
Bitches use to play me now they cant forget me now
Forget me not, I rock the spot,
check glock
Empty off a lickin off a hip hop
Fuck the billboard, Im a bullet on my
block
How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?
[Chorus:]
Look
up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane
It's the funk doctor spock smokin buddha on a
train
HOW HIGH? So high that I can kiss the sky
HOW SICK? So sick that you can suck my
dick
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 dick
[Verse Five: Method Man]
Til 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 dont need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own
Check it, I brings havoc with my
hectic
Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic
Movin on your left kid, and I'm
methted, out my fuckin dome piece
Plus I got no love for the beast
Hailin from the big
East Coast
Where niggaz 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 around with a racist
My style was born in the 50 stair cases
Dig it, eff a rap
critic
He talk about it while I live it
If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit
it
[Verse Six: Redman]
Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in
ya
Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet
Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K
matic
Rollin blunts an all day habit
I get it on like Smiff and Wess
Who clicks the
best
Punks take a sip and test
Who split your vest
The funk phenomenon
Im bombin
you like Lebanon
Blow canals of Panama
Just off stamina
Styles not to be fucked with,
or played with
Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches
Hittin switches,
Twistin wigs with
Fat radical mathematical type scriptures
I dig up in your planets like
Diga,
Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens
Fuck the marines, I got machines
To
light the spliff, and read Mad magazine
I fly more heads than Continental
Wreck ya 5 times
like US 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 proppa
Ask Biggie Smalls
'Who Shot Ya'
Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg
Look, I got the tools like
Rickle
To make your mind tickle
For the nine nickle
(Yo Red, yo Red!)
Punk ass
pussy ass
(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)
Word up Tical, We Out
(IT'S
OVER) | | | |  Reddit | X / Twitter | Facebook | Copy link |
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