How High

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 going down, diggy diggy down diggy down down

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

Fucking with us

Is a straight suicide

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4

3, 2, murder 1 lyric at your door

Tical bring it to that ass raw

Breaking all the rules like glass jaws

Nigga, you got to get mines to get yours

Fucka 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

I bees 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 till 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 monkey-ass

And 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

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

It's the Funk Doctor Spot 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

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 fucking 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 kingpins and cut throats

As I run a mile with a racist

My style was born in the pissy stair cases

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

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, rolling 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 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 switches, twisting wigs with

Fat radical mathematical type scriptures

I dig up in your planets like Digga -- boo

Scared you, blew you to smitha-reens

Fuck the Marines, I got machines

That like to spit and read Mad Magazine

I fly more heads than Continental

Wreck ya five times like U.S. 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 proper

Ask Biggie Smalls Who Shot Ya

Funk doctor, with the twelve Gauge Mossberg

Look I got the tools like Rickle

To make your mind tickle

For the nine nickle