How High ( (Remix explicit Album Version Explicit) - Method Man (方法人)/Redman

Written by：Stephan Pra

Scuse me as I kiss the sky

Sing a song of six pence a pocket full a rye

Who the f**k want to 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 n**ga

Hell yes apocalypse now the gun blow

It be goin down diggy diggy down diggy down down

While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse

When I raise my trigga finga all why'all n**gaz hit the decks

Cause ain't 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 b**ch

Plus the bombazee got me wild

F**kin' with us is a straight suicide

Ten nine eight seven six five four

Three two murder 1 lyric at your door

Tical bring it to that a** raw

Breakin all the rules like glass jaws

N**ga you got to get mine to get yours

F**ka 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 that 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 n**ga on dust

The egyptian musk use 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 sh*t 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 1 with your eyes closed

The blindfold cold so you can feel the rap

And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey a**

And yo my man tical hit me now

B**ches use to play me now they can't forget me now

Forget me not I rock the spot check glock

Empty off a lickin' off a hip hop

F**k the billboard I'm a bullet on my block

How you d**e 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 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 d**n thing changed

How high so high that I can kiss the sky

How sick so sick that you can suck my dick

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 don't need your dirt w**d we got a f**kin' o

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 f**kin' dome piece

Plus I got no love for the beast

Hailin' from the big east coast

Where n**gaz 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 fifty staircases

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 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 smif'n'wes

Punks take a sip and test

Who split your vest

The funk phenomenon

I'm bombin' you like lebanon

Blow canals of panama

Just off stamina

Styles not to be f**ked with or played with

F**k the pretty h**s 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

F**k the marines I got machines

To light the spliff and read mad magazine

I fly more heads than continental

Wreck ya five 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 twelve gauge mossberg

Look I got the tools like rickle

To make your mind tickle

For the nine nickle

Yo red yo red

Punk a** p**sy a**

You ain't gotta say no more man that's it

Word up tical we out

It's over