Method Man - How High Lyrics
* originally appeared on the show soundtrackIntro:Takin it from the top?Tippy? tippy?How high? ....The ultimate high....Verse one: method manScuse me as I kiss the skySing a song of six pence, a pocet full a ryeWho the ***** wanna die for their cultureStalk the dead body like a vultureTical get, hmmmBlacker than your blackest stallionHit your housen projectsI represent the shaolin my niggaHell yes, apocalypse now, the gun blowIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down downVerse two: redmanWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapseWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcoresRaw to the floor raw like reservoir dogsThe green-eyed bandit cant stand itWith more fruitier loops then that toucan sam *****Plus, the bombazee got me wild(*****in with us) is a straight suicideVerse three: method man10 9 8 7 6 5 43 2 murder 1 lyric at your doorTical bring it to that ass rawBreakin all the rules like glass jawsNigga, you got to get mine to get yours*****a, we dont need no rap tourId rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-tureMore than you bargained forTical, that stays open like an all nite storeFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steelPointed at your temple with the intent to killAnd end your existance, m-e-tAint no use for resistance, h-o-dVerse four: redmanI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dustThe egyptian musk use to have me pull mad slutsI shift like a clutch with the ruckExamine my nuts, I dont stop till I get enoughYour shit broke down, light your flareSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares6 million ways to die, so I choseMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closedThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rapAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey assAnd yo my man (tical) hit me now*****es use to play me now they cant forget me nowForget me not, I rock the spot, check glockEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop***** the billboard, Im a bullet on my blockHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?Chorus:Look up in the sky, its a bird, its a planeIts the funk doctor spock smokin buddha on a trainHow high? so high that I can kiss the skyHow sick? so sick that you can suck my dickLook up in the sky its a bird its a planeRecognize, johnny blaze, aint a damn thing changedHow high? so high that I can kiss the skyHow sick? so sick that you can suck my dickVerse five: method manTil my man raider ruckus come homeIt aint really on till the ruckus get, homePuff a meth bone, now Im off to the red zoneWe dont need your dirt weed we got a *****in oCheck it, I brings havoc with my hecticBring the pain lyrics screamin for the antisepticMovin on your left kid, and Im methted, out my *****in dome piecePlus I got no love for the beastHailin from the big east coastWhere niggaz pack toastHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats[hey boy, yous the rude boy on the blockYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped]As I run around with a racistMy style was born in the 50 stair casesDig it, eff a rap criticHe talk about it while I live itIf red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit itVerse six: redmanLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in yaEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chetRabbit, I brings havoc with an a-k maticRollin blunts an all day habitI get it on like smifnwesPunks take a sip and testWho split your vestThe funk phenomenonIm bombin you like lebanonBlow canals of panamaJust off staminaStyles not to be *****ed with, or played with***** the pretty hoes, I love those section a bit-chesHittin switches, twistin wigs withFat radical mathematical type scripturesI dig up in your planets like diga,Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens***** the marines, I got machinesTo light the spliff, and read mad magazineI fly more heads than continentalWreck ya 5 times like us air off an instrumentalLook Im not a half way crook with bad looksBut I may murder your case like your name was cal brooksI breaks em up proppaAsk biggie smalls who shot yaFunk doctor, with the 12 gauge mossbergLook, I got the tools like rickleTo make your mind tickleFor the nine nickle[yo red, yo red!]Punk ass ***** ass[you aint gotta say no more man, thats it]Word up tical, we out[its over]
