How High (Instrumental)

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