How High Lyric Method Man BLACKOUT

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 pocket
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

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
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

Ain't 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 don't need your dirt weed we got a
fuckin 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 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 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 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]

Download polyphonic ringtone for your cell phone !
	the motto by method man

Lyric	Photo galleries	Midi songs	Discography	Ringtones
Guitar tabs