Luyện nghe bài hát How High (Part 2)

Takin it from the
Tippy?
How
The Ultimate

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

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

the planets and the stars and the moons collapse
When I raise my finga all y'all niggaz hit the decks
ain't no need for that, hustlers and hardcores
Raw to the raw like Reservoir Dogs

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

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

Fucka, we don't no rap tour
I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the
than you bargained for
Tical, stays open like an all night store

For real, I it ill like a piece of blue steel
Pointed at your temple with the to kill
And end your existence,
no use for resistance, H-O-D

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

shit broke down, light your flare
Since the dark tears you into Hollywood squares
6 million to die, so I chose
it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed

The blindfold, cold, so you can the rap
And shatter the and second half on your monkey ass
And yo my man, hit me now
(Tical)
Bitches use to play me, now can't forget me now

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

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

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

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

it, I brings havoc with my hectic
Bring the Pain screamin' for the antiseptic
Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my dome piece
Plus I got no love for the

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

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

Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and in ya
Enter the centa, bang like rico-chet
Rabbit, I brings with an A-K matic
blunts an all day habit

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

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

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

Boo, scared you, blew you to
Fuck the marines, I got
To light the spliff, and read Mad
I fly more heads than

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

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

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)