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method man - how high lyrics

– originally appeared on the show soundtrack

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 f-ck wanna die for their culture
stalk the dead body like a vulture
tical get, hmmm
blacker than your blackest stallion
hit your housen projects
i represent the shaolin my n-gg-
h-ll 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 n-gg-z hit the decks!
cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores
raw to the floor raw like reservoir dogs
the green-eyed bandit cant stand it
with more fruitier loops then that toucan sam b-tch
plus, the bombazee got me wild
(f-ckin 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 -ss raw
breakin all the rules like gl-ss jaws
n-gg-, you got to get mine to get yours
f-cka, 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 n-gg- on dust
the egyptian musk use to have me pull mad sl-ts
i shift like a clutch with the ruck
examine my nuts, i dont stop till i get enough
your sh-t 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 gl-ss and second half on your monkey -ss
and yo my man (tical) hit me now
b-tches 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
f-ck the billboard, im a bullet on my block
how you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?

chorus:

look up in the sky, its a bird, its a plane
its 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 d-ck
look up in the sky its a bird its a plane
recognize, johnny blaze, aint a d-mn thing changed
how high? so high that i can kiss the sky
how sick? so sick that you can suck my d-ck

verse five: method man

til my man raider ruckus come home
it aint really on till the ruckus get, home
puff a meth bone, now im off to the red zone
we dont need your dirt weed we got a f-ckin o
check it, i brings havoc with my hectic
bring the pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic
movin on your left kid, and im methted, out my f-ckin dome piece
plus i got no love for the beast
hailin from the big east coast
where n-gg-z pack toast
home of the drug kingpins and cut throats
[hey boy, yous the rude boy on the block
you try and stop the b-m 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 smifnwes
punks take a sip and test
who split your vest
the funk phenomenon
im bombin you like lebanon
blow c-n-ls of panama
just off stamina
styles not to be f-cked with, or played with
f-ck 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
f-ck 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 im 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 -ss p-ssy -ss
[you aint gotta say no more man, thats it]
word up tical, we out
[its over]

- method man lyrics

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