Luyện nghe bài hát How High (Part 2)

Takin it from the
Tippy?
How
The Ultimate

me as I kiss the sky
Sing a of six pence, a pocket full a rye
Who the fuck die for their culture?
Stalk the dead like a vulture

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

While the planets and the and the moons collapse
When I my trigga finga all y'all niggaz hit the decks
'Cause ain't no need for that, and hardcores
Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir

The Green-Eyed Bandit stand it
With more Fruitier 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, lyric at your
Tical it to that ass raw
Breakin' all the rules glass jaws
Nigga, you got to get to get yours

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

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

I bees the ultimate to any nigga on dust
The Egyptian use to have me pull mad sluts
I like a clutch with the Ruck
Examine my nuts, I don't stop till I get

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

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

Forget me not, I rock the spot, glock
off a lickin' off a hip hop
Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my
How you dope when you payed for your 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 high that I can the sky
How sick? So sick that you can my dick

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

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

Check it, I brings havoc my hectic
Bring the Pain lyrics for the antiseptic
Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin' 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, the rude boy on the block)
(You try and stop the bum you will get popped)
As I run around a racist

My style was born in the 50 stair
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, bang like rico-chet
Rabbit, I havoc with an A-K matic
Rollin' 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
not to be fucked with, or played with

Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those, Section A
Hittin' switches, twistin' with
Fat mathematical type scriptures
I dig up in your like Diga

Boo, you, blew you to smithereens
the marines, I got machines
To the spliff, and read Mad magazine
I fly more heads Continental

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

Ask Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'
Funk doctor, the 12 Gauge Mossberg
Look, I got the tools Rickle
To make mind tickle

For the nickle
(Yo Red, yo Red)
ass pussy ass
(You ain't say no more man, that's it)
up Tical, we out
(It's over)