Karaoké How High Method Man & Redman

You takin' it from the top

Tippy, oh sing it daddy

Top, boh boh beem bom hey yeah, mmh mmh

Ooh, eeh, take my mind

Ah ah, takin' it back where it's never gone before

Ah ah

At the mic I'm much movin' cow shit

And I'm takin' 'em just to get the ultimate high baby

Uh uh, oh ha ha the ultimate high

Excuse me as I kiss the sky sing a song of sixpence a pocket full o' rye

Who the fuck wanna die for dey culture

Stalk the dead body like a vulture they gougin', hmm

Blacker than your blackest stallion hit yo' housin'

Projects I represent yo'

Shaolin my nigga

Oh yes apocalypse now the gun pow

We be goin' down diggy diggy down diggy down down

When the planet and the stars and the moons collapse

When I raise my trigger finger all y'all niggas hit the deck

'Cos ain't no need for that hustlers and hard core

Raw to the floor raw like reservoir dogs

The green eyed bandit can't stand it

With more booty I loose than that you can't stand bitch

Plus the bah bah zee got me wide is just straight suicide

Ten nine eight seven six five four

Three two murder one lyrics at your door

The cow ringer 'til that ass raw breakin' all the rules like glass jaw nigga

You got to get mine to get yours

Fucka we don't need no rap tour

I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap chore more than you bargained for

The counter stays open like an all night store

For real I keeps you ill like a piece of blue steel

Point it at your temple with the intent to kill

And end your existance

M E T

Ain't no use for resistance

H O D

I be's the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust

The Egyptian musk used to have me pour mad suds

I shift like a clutch with the rush

Examine my nuts I don't start to like it enough

Yo' shit broke down light yo' flare

Since the dark side tears you into Hollywood square

Six million ways to die so I chose

Made a six million and went wit' yo' eyes closed

And blindfold cold so you can feel the wrath

An' shatter the glass an' second half on yo' funky ass

And you're my man hit me now

Bitches used to play me now they can't forget me now

They get me not I rock the spot check clock

Empty off a kickin' off and a hip hop

Fuck the Billboard I'm a bullet on my block

How you dealt when you paid 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 the train

How high how sick

So high that you can kiss the sky

So sick that you can suck my dick

Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane

Work it out Johnny Blaze ain't a damn thing change

How high how sick

So high that you can kiss the sky

So sick that you can suck my dick

To my man radar ruckus come home at eight

Really on to the ruckus git home wif her man

Home now walk to the red zone

We don't need your dirt we we got our fuckin' own

Check it I reeks havoc wit' my hectic

Bring the pain lyrics hurry for the Antiseptic

Movin' on yo' left kick and the method

Of my fuckin' don't peace 'cos

I have no love for the beast

Hailin' from the big East coast where niggas pack

Toast home of the drug king pins and cutthroats

Hey boy are you the rude boy on the block

You try to stop the bum rush you will get popped

As I run a mile where're the races

My style was born in them empty staircases

Dig it F 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 da

I got the bird nows and glock

See ya into the center lyrics playin' like vicar

Stray rabbit I bring habit wit' an A K matic rollin' blunts an all day habit

I get it on like Smith Wesson who clicks the best

Punks take a sip an' test who splits yo' vest

The funk phenomenon I'm bombin' you like Lebanon

Blow canals like Panama just on stamina

Styles not to be fucked wit' or played wit'

Fuck the pretty hoes I love those sexy hey bitch

Just hittin' snitches twistin' wigs wit

Phat radical mathamatical type scriptures

I dig up in planet like Digger, booh

Scared you blew you to smither

Reens fuck the Marines

I got machines

That like to spit and read Mad magazine

I play more hands than Continental

Wreck you five times like

US Air off a instrumental

Look I'm not a halfway crook with bad looks

But I may murder yo' case like yo' name was Cal Brooks

I breaks 'em off proper ask Biggie Smalls who shot ya

Funk doctor with the twelve gauge monster

Look I got the tools like Rickel to make your mind tickle for the nine nickel