Luyện nghe bài hát How High (remix)

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

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

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

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

The bandit can't stand it
With more Fruitier Loops that Toucan Sam Bitch
Plus, the got me wild
Fuckin' us is a straight 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 like jaws
Nigga, you got to get to get yours
Fucka, we need no rap tour
I'd rather kick the and catch you with the rapture

More than you for
Tical, that stays like an all nite store
For real, I it ill like a piece of blue steel
at your temple with the intent to kill
And end existence, M E T, ain't no use for resistance, H O D

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

Your broke down, light your flare
the dark side tears you into Hollywood squares
6 million to die, so I chose
Made it 6 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
use to play me now they cant forget me now

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

Look up in the sky, it's a bird, a plane
It's the funk doctor Spock 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 So High that I can kiss the sky
How sick? So Sick that you can suck my

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

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' piece
Plus I got no love for the beast, hailin' the big East Coast

Where niggaz toast
Home of the drug kingpins and cut
(Hey boy, the rude boy on the block
You try and stop the bum rush you get popped)

As I run around with a
My style was born in the 50 cases
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, and glocks in ya
Enter the centa, lyrics like ricochet
Rabbit, I havoc with an AK- matic
blunts an all day habit

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

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

I fly more heads Continental
Wreck ya 5 like US AIR off an instrumental
I'm not a half way crook with bad looks
But I may murder case 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 your tickle
For the nickle
(Yo Red, yo Red)
ass, pussy ass
(You ain't gotta say no man, that's it)
up Tical, we out
(It's over)