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Method Man & Redman ft. Tupac - How High

The two king's mashed up with the legend in a recollection of oldschool beats and raps. When rap was real. Lyrics : Method Man Tical shittin' again, spittin' to win Loaded guns, clip in the end, none sicker than him Yes, indeed, I'm ill as any STD's or sex disease These dirty rats want extra cheese On that piece of the pie Now ask me "How high?", I'll tell you "Reach for the sky!" Blame the Crooked Letter I That's my home, 23's wrapped in chrome Not only snap on y'all niggas but I'll snap them bones Clap your dome, make you leave that crack alone You got the key to the city but the latch is on? I gots it locked, bringin' the noise, bringin' the Funk Doctor Spock, bringin' my boys, bringin' you lungs Pop the Glock, but only if you feel this shit Jack the Ripper; don't make me have to kill this bitch! Back to get ya, put it in check, that's the Mista Meth with his wood on your neck, shut your lips up 2Pac There's, never a good day, cause in my hood they let they AK's pump strays where the kids play And every Halloween, check out the murder scene Can't help but duplicate the violence seen on the screen My homies dyin 'fore they get to see they birthdays These is the worst days, sometimes it hurts to pray And even God turned his back on the ghetto youth I know that ain't the truth, sometimes I look for proof I wonder if heaven got a ghetto, and if it does Does it matter if you blood or you cuz Remember how it was, the picnics and the parties in the projects Small time drinkin gettin high with them armies Just another knucklehead kid from the gutter I'm dealin with the madness, raised by a single mother I'm tryin to tell you when it's on You gotta keep your head to the sky and be strong, most of all hold on Method Man Mista Method Man, puttin' in work, foot in the dirt Like it's all good, roll through your hood, pushin' a hearse I wish y'all would come around like Clint Eastwood As if you're reppin' your hood in my neck of the woods Street gorillas in the PJ's, grimy bitch I wear the same shit for three days, find me lit Blunt sparks, like Phillippi; fuck the he-say, the she-say! Adjust the microphone, plus the cliché Redman Yo, call me the Bob Backlund I'll break backs on hoes that look like Toni Braxton Come run with these boney masked men I'm out the gutter, I'm out to send your baby mother Out for rubbers; we fuckin' tonight Bitches wanna crowd around, how I'm cuffin' the mic I'm a gorilla, leave a banana stuck in your pipe ‘Cause I'm a real block winner, the Doc inna Bitch, one of my balls bigger than the Epcot Center!