Luyện nghe bài hát How High (Part 2)

Takin it from the
Tippy?
How
The Ultimate

'Scuse me as I the sky
Sing a of six pence, a pocket full a rye
Who the fuck wanna die for culture?
Stalk the dead body a vulture

Tical get, blacker your blackest stallion
Hit your house'n projects, I represent the Shaolin my
yes, 'Apocalypse Now', the gun blow
It be goin' down, diggy down diggy down down

While the planets and the stars and the collapse
I raise my trigga finga all y'all niggaz hit the decks
'Cause ain't no for that, hustlers and hardcores
Raw to the floor raw Reservoir Dogs

The Green-Eyed Bandit can't it
more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch
Plus, the Bombazee got me
Fuckin' with us is a suicide

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 Murder 1, at your door
Tical bring it to ass raw
Breakin' all the like glass jaws
Nigga, you got to get to get yours

Fucka, we need no rap tour
I'd kick the facts and catch you with the rapture
More you bargained for
Tical, that stays open like an all store

For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue
Pointed at your temple with the to kill
And end your existence,
Ain't no use for resistance,

I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on
The Musk use to have me pull mad sluts
I shift like a clutch with the
Examine my nuts, I stop till I get enough

Your shit down, light your flare
Since the dark side tears you into Hollywood
6 million ways to die, so I
Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes

The blindfold, cold, so you can the rap
And shatter the glass and half on your monkey ass
And yo my man, hit me now
(Tical)
Bitches use to play me, now they forget me now

me not, I rock the spot, check glock
Empty off a off a hip hop
Fuck the billboard, I'm a on my block
How you dope when you for your Billboard spot?

Look up in the sky, it's a bird, a plane
It's the funk spock smokin' Buddha on a train
How high? So that I can kiss the sky
How sick? So sick that you can suck my

up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane
Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing
How high? So high I can kiss the sky
How sick? So sick that you can suck my

'Til my man Raider Ruckus home
It really on till the Ruckus get, home
Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red
We don't need your dirt weed we got a O

Check it, I brings havoc with my
the Pain lyrics screamin' for the antiseptic
Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin' dome
I got no love for the beast

Hailin' from the big Coast
niggaz pack toast
Home of the kingpins and cut throats
(Hey boy, you's the boy on the block)
(You try and stop the bum rush you get popped)
As I run around a racist

My style was born in the 50 cases
Dig it, eff a rap
He talk about it I live it
If Red got the blunt, I'm the one to hit it

Look up in the, I got the verbs, and glocks in ya
Enter the centa, lyrics bang like
Rabbit, I havoc with an A-K matic
blunts an all day habit

I get it on Smif'n'Wes
take a sip and test
Who split your
The phenomenon

I'm bombin' you like
Blow of Panama
Just off
Styles not to be fucked with, or played

Fuck the hoes, I love those, Section A Bitches
Hittin' switches, wigs with
Fat radical mathematical type
I dig up in planets like Diga

Boo, scared you, you to smithereens
the marines, I got machines
To light the spliff, and Mad magazine
I fly heads than Continental

Wreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an
Look I'm not a half way crook with bad
But I may murder your case like your name was Cal
I 'em up proppa

Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Ya'
Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge
Look, I got the tools like
To make your tickle

For the nickle
(Yo Red, yo Red)
ass pussy ass
(You gotta say no more man, that's it)
up Tical, we out
(It's over)