How High

You taking it from the top? (top)
Tippy
Sing it daddy
Taking it back
Take my mind where it's never gone before
At the mic I'm much moving cow shit
And I'm taking them just to get the ultimate high, baby
Ha ha the ultimate high

Excuse me as I kiss the sky
Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye
Who the fuck wanna die for they culture
Stalk the dead body like a vulture
They gouging
Blacker than your blackest stallion
Hit your housing projects
I represent your Shaolin my nigga
Oh yes apocalypse now the gun pow
We be going down diggy diggy down diggy down down
When the planet and the stars and the moons collapse
When I raise my trigger finger all you niggas hit the deck
Cause ain't no need for that
Hustlers and hardcore
Roar to the floor
Raw like Reservoir Dogs
The green eyed bandit can't stand it
With more booty I lose than that you can't stand bitch
Plus the babazi got me wide
Fucking with us is just straight suicide
10 98765 4
32 Murder 1 lyrics at your door
The cow wringer till that ass roar
Breaking all the rules like last yours
Nigga you got to get mine to get yours
Fucker we don't need no rap tour
I'd rather keep the facts and catch you with the rapture
More than you bargained for
The counter stays open like an all night store
For real I keep you 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-P
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 a rust
Examine my nuts
I don't stop till I get enough
Your shit broke down light your flare
Since the dark side teared you into Hollywood Square
Six million ways to die so I chose
Made a six million and with your eyes closed
And blindfold cold so you can feel the wrath
And shatter the glass and second half on your funky ass
And yo my man (Cow) 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 upper kicking off in the 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 smoking buddha on a train
How high
So high that you can kiss the sky
How sick
So sick that you can suck my dick
Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane
Well get out Johnny Blaze ain't a damn thing changed
How high
So high that you can kiss the sky
How sick
So sick that you can suck my dick

To my man Radar Ruckus come home
It ain't really on till the Ruckus get home
Riverman on I walk to the red zone
We don't need your dirt we we got our fucking own
Check it
I wreaks havoc with my hectic
Bring your pain lyrics screaming for the antiseptic
Moving on your left kick and the method of my fucking
Don't peace cause I have no love for the beast
Hailing from the big east coast where niggas pack toast
Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats
Hey boy are you the rude boy on the block
You try to stop the bum rush you will get popped
As I run the mile where the race is
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 the I got the bird nines and Glocks see ya
Into the center
Lyrics play like Vicar
Stray rabbit I bring havoc with an AK-matic
Rolling blunts an all day habit
I get it on like Smith and Wesson
Who clips it best
Punks take a sniff and test
Who splits your vest
The funk phenomena
I'm bombing you like Lebanon
Blow canals like Panama
Just on stamina
Styles not to be fucked with or played with
Fucked the pretty hoes I love those sex and hate bitch
Just hitting snitches
Twisting wigs with fat radical mathematical type scriptures
I dig up and plant it like Digga
Boo scared you
Blew you to smithereens
Fuck the marines
I got machines that like to spit and read mad magazines
I play more hands than Continental
Wreck you five times like US Air off an instrumental
Look I'm not a halfway crook with bad looks
But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks
I break some off proper
Ask Biggie Smalls who shot ya
Funk Doctor with the twelve gauge monster
Look I got the tools like Rickle
To make your mind tickle
For the nine nickel

Your punk ass
Pussy ass
You ain't got to say no more
It's over