Redman/Method Man
The Show soundtrack
How High
[Redman (Method Man)]
Takin it from the top? (Top)
Tippy? (Tippy)
All my people... heeeyy
(Sing it daddy)
How high
(Take your mind where it never gone before
Heads roll like a mushroom Tical shit
And I'm takin it just to get the ultimate high baby
The ultimate high)
[Method Man]
Excuse me as I kiss the sky
Sing a song of six pence, a pocket full a rye
Who the fuck wanna die for their culture
Stalk the dead body like a vulture
Tical, hmmmmmm
Blacker than your blackest stallion
Hit your housin
Projects, I represent yo Shaolin my nigga
Hell yes, apocalypse now, the gun blow
It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down
[Redman]
While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse
When I raise my trigger finger all y'all niggaz hit the decks
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 then that Toucan Sam bitch
Plus, the Bombazee got me wild
(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide
[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
Fucker, 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 in your existance, M-E-T
Ain't no use for resistance, H-O-D
[Redman]
I bes 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 don't stop til 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 wrath
And shatter the glass and second half on your funky ass
And yo my man (Tical) hit me now
Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now
Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock
Empty off, I'm lickin off in hip hop
Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block
How you dope when you pay for your billboard spot?
[Method Man (Redman)]
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 diUHH
[Method Man]
Til my man Raderuckus come home
It ain't really on til the Ruckus get home
Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone
We don't 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 Method, 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 to stop the bum rush you will get popped)
As I run around with a racist
My style was born in the misty staircases
Dig it, F a rap critic
He talk about it while I live it
If Red got the blunt I'm the second one to hit it
[Redman]
Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya
Enter the center, 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 Smith and Wess
Who clicks the best
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
Style's 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 Digga
Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens
Fuck the marines, I got machines
That 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 off proper
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 9-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)
| ||
|
