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Текст песни: How High (Instrumental) (Method Man & Redman)

Содержание: Текст песни: How High (Instrumental) (Method Man & Redman). Слова: Method Man Excuse me as I kiss the sky Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full a rye Who the fuck wanna die for their culture? Stalk the dead body like a vulture, ...


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текст песни Method Man & Redman - How High (Instrumental)

How High (Instrumental)Method Man & Redmanтекст песни
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    [Method Man]
    Excuse me as I kiss the sky
    Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full a rye
    Who the fuck wanna die for their culture?
    Stalk the dead body like a vulture, Ticalion, hmm
    Blacker than your blackest stallion
    Hit your housing projects
    I represent yo Shaolin my nigga
    Now yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow
    It be goin' down, diggy diggy down diggy down down

    [Redman]
    While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse
    When I raise my trigger finger all y'all niggas hit the deck
    '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 than that Toucan Sam bitch
    Plus the Bombazee got me wide
    (MM: Fucking with us) Is a straight suicide

    [Method Man]
    10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4
    3, 2, murder 1 lyric at your door
    Tical bring it to that ass raw
    Breakin' all the rules like glass jaws
    Nigga, you got to get mines to get yours
    Fuck'a we don't need no rap tour
    I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture
    More than you bargained for
    Tical I stays open like an all-night 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

    [Redman]
    I be's the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust
    The Egyptian Musk used to have me pull mad sluts
    I shift like a clutch with the Ruck
    Examine my nuts, I don't stop 'til I get enough
    Your shit broke down, light your flare
    Since the darkside tears you into Hollywood Squares
    Six million ways to die, so I chose
    Made it six million and one with your eyes closed
    The blindfold cold so you can feel the wrath
    And shatter the glass and second half on your funky-ass
    A yo, my man (Tical) hit me now
    Bitches used to play me now they can't forget me now
    They get me mad, I rock the spot, check Glock
    Empty off a licking off a hip-hop
    Fuck the Billboard, I'm a bullet on my block
    How you dope when you payed for your Billboard spot?

    [Hook]
    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 I 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
    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 suck my dick

    [Method Man]
    'Til my man Raider Ruckus come home
    It ain't really on til' 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 fuckin' own
    Check it
    I brings havoc with my hectic
    Bring the Pain lyrics screaming for the antiseptic
    Moving on your left kid, and I'm Method
    Out my fucking dome piece, plus I got no love for the beast
    Hailing from the big East Coast, where niggas pack toast
    Home of the drug kingpin and cut throats

    [Redman]
    Hey boy, you the rude boy on the block
    You try to stop the bum rush, you will get popped

    [Method Man]
    As I run a mile with a racist
    My style was born in the pissy staircases
    Dig it, eff a rap critic
    He talk about it while I live it
    If Red got the blunt, I'm the second one to hit it

    [Redman]
    Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and Glocks in ya
    Enter the center, lyrics bang like Ricochet Rabbit
    I brings havoc with an A-K matic
    Rollin' blunts an all-day habit
    I get it on like Smif 'n' Wess'; who clique's the best?
    Punks take a sip and test, who split your vest
    The funk phenomenon, I'm bombing you like Lebanon
    Blow canals of Panama just off stamina
    Styles not to be fucked with or played with
    Fuck them pretty hoes, I love those Section 8 bit-ches
    Hitting snitches, twisting wigs with
    Fat radical mathematical type scriptures
    I dig up in your planets like Digga — boo
    Scared you, blew you to *#&** the Marines, I got machines
    That like to spit and read Mad magazines
    I fly more heads than Continental
    Wreck ya five times like U.S. 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 breaks 'em off proper
    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




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