Luyện nghe bài hát How High (remix)

Takin' it from the Tippy? Tippy?
How high? The high

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

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

While the and the stars and the moons collapse
I raise 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 Dogs

The green-eyed can't stand it
With more Fruitier Loops then that 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 bring it to that ass raw, breakin' all the rules glass jaws
Nigga, you got to get mine to get
Fucka, we don't no rap tour
I'd rather the facts and catch you with the rapture

than you bargained for
Tical, that stays open like an all nite
For real, I keeps it ill like a of blue steel
Pointed at your temple with the to kill
And end your existence, M E T, no use for resistance, H O D

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

Your broke down, light your flare
Since the dark side tears you into Hollywood
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 monkey ass
And yo my man hit me now
Bitches use to me now they cant forget me now

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

Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a
It's the funk doctor Spock smokin' buddha on a
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, a plane
Recognize, Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed
How high? So that I can kiss the sky
How So Sick that you can suck my dick

'Til my man Ruckus come home
It ain't on till the Ruckus get, home
Puff a methbone, now I'm off to the red
We don't need your dirt weed we got a own

it, I brings havoc with my hectic
Bring the Pain screamin' for the antiseptic
Movin' on left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin' dome piece
Plus I got no for the beast, hailin' from the big East Coast

Where pack toast
of the drug kingpins and cut throats
(Hey boy, you's the boy on the block
You try and stop the bum you will get popped)

As I run with a racist
My style was born in the 50 stair
Dig it, eff a rap critic, he talk it while I live 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, lyrics like ricochet
Rabbit, I brings havoc with an AK-
Rollin' an all day habit

I get it on like
Punks take a sip and test, who your vest
The funk phenomenon, I'm bombin' you like
Blow of Panama, just off stamina
Styles not to be fucked with, or with
Fuck the hoes, I love those section A bitches

Hittin' switches, twistin' wigs
Fat radical type scriptures
I dig up in planets like Diga,
Boo, scared you, you to smithe-reens
the marines, I got machines
To light the spliff, and Mad magazine

I fly more heads than
Wreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an
I'm not a half way crook with bad looks
But I may murder your like your name was Cal Brooks
I 'em up proppa, ask Biggie Smalls, Who Shot Ya?
Funk doctor, the 12 gauge Mossberg

Look, I got the tools like rickle, to make mind tickle
For the nickle
(Yo Red, yo Red)
Punk ass, ass
(You ain't say no more man, that's it)
up Tical, we out
(It's over)