How High (Remix)

Takin' it from the top? Tippy Oh, my people Sing it daddy How high, high Take my mind Where it never gone before [Incomprehensible] [Incomprehensible] the ultimate high, baby The ultimate high Excuse me as I kiss the sky Sing a song of six pence, a pocket full a rye Who the f**k wanna die for their culture Stalk the dead body like a vulture, Tical get Blacker than your blackest stallion hit your house Projects I represent the Shaolin' my nigga Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow It be goin' down, diggy diggy down diggy down down While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse When I raise my trigga finga all y'all niggaz hit the decks 'Cause ain't no need for that, hustlers and hardcore Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch Plus, the Bombazee got me wild f**kin' with us is just straight suicide 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 murder 1 lyric at your door Tical bring it to that a*s raw breakin' all the rules like gla*s jaws Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours f**ka, we don't need no rap tour I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-true More than you bargained for Tical, that stays open like an all nite store For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill And end your existence, M E T Ain't no use for resistance, H O D I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts I shift like a clutch with the Ruck Examine my nuts, I don't stop till I get enough Your shit broke down, light your flare Since the dark side tears you into Hollywood Squares 6 million ways to die, so I chose Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap And shatter the gla*s and second half on your monkey a*s And yo my man, Tical hit me now Bitches use to play me now they cant forget me now Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock Empty off a lickin' off a hip hop f**k the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot? Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane It's the funk doctor Spock smokin' Buddha on a train How high? So high that I can kiss the sky How sick? So sick that you can s*ck my d**k Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed How high? So high that I can kiss the sky How sick? So sick that you can s*ck my d**k Till my man Raider Ruckus come home It ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone We don't need your dirt weed we got our f**kin' own Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic Bring the Pain lyrics screamin' for the antiseptic Movin' on your left kid, and I'm method, out my f**kin' dome piece Plus I got no love for the beast, hailin' from the big East Coast Where niggaz pack toast home of the drug kingpins and cut throats Hey boy, your's the rude boy on the block You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped As I run around with a racist My style was born in the 50 stair cases Dig it, ff a rap critic he talk about it while I live it If Red got the blunt, I'm the second one to hit it Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya Enter the cent, lyrics bang like Nico-chet Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic Rollin blunts an all day habit I get it on like Smif'n'Wes Who clicks the best punks take a sip and test Who split your vest the funk phenomenon I'm bombin' you like Lebanon blow canals of Panama Just off stamina Styles not to be f**ked with, or played with f**k the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches Hittin' switches, Twistin' wigs with Fat radical mathematical type scriptures I dig up in your planets like Diga Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens f**k the marines, I got machines To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine I fly more heads than Continental Wreck ya 5 times like US Air off an instrumental Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks I breaks em up proppa ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya' Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg Look, I got the tools like Rickle to make your mind tickle For the nine nickle Yo Red, yo Red Punk a*s pus*y a*s You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it Word up Tical, We Out It's over