[{"id":29258514,"name":"How High (remix)","trackName":"How High (remix)","artistName":"Method Man & Redman","albumName":"420 Hits: Method Man & Redman","duration":240.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05] Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98] Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63] How High?...\n[00:21.69] The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95] 'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17] Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51] Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10] I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92] Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39] It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22] When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43] Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75] Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84] Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70] (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64] Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37] Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73] Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43] More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51] Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30] And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78] Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15] The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59] Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94] Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81] Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85] Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84] And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58] Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49] Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04] Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95] How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69] It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96] Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74] How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01] How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23] Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26] Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15] How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75] How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16] It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99] We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56] Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88] Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47] Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72] Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42] Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27] Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86] Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64] (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26] You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91] As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96] My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66] He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45] If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64] Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00] Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68] Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74] I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39] Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63] Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98] Who split your vest\n[03:41.91] The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56] I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65] Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16] Just off stamina\n[03:47.42] Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05] Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23] Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14] I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20] Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50] Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41] To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22] I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33] Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59] Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67] I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35] Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81] Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04] To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06] For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69] (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79] Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50] (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (remix)\n  artist: Method Man & Redman\n  album: '420 Hits: Method Man & Redman'\n  duration_ms: 240000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"},{"id":36070339,"name":"How High (remix) (PMEDIA)","trackName":"How High (remix) (PMEDIA)","artistName":"Method Man & Redman","albumName":"420 Hits: Method Man & Redman","duration":239.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin' it from the top?\n(Hell yeah, we taking it from the top)\nTippy?\nAll my people (sing it, daddy)\nHey, uh\n\nExcuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTicallion, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your housing projects\nI represent yo' Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, apocalypse now, the gun blaow\nIt be goin' down, diggy diggy down, diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigger finger, all y'all niggas hit the deck\n'Cause ain't no need for that, hustlers and hardcore\nRaw to the floor, raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wide...\n(Fuckin' with us) is a straight suicide\n\n10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4\nThree, two, murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreaking all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucker, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all-night store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existence, M-E-T\nAin't no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI's be the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian musk used to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I don't stop 'til I get enough\nYo' shit broke down, light your flair\nThis the dark side tears into Hollywood Squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it six million and one with your eyes closed\n\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the wrath\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAyo my man (Tical) hear me now\nBitches used to play me, now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check Glock\nEmpty off a lickin' off in hip-hop\nFuck the Billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you paid for your Billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n(It's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' buddah on the train)\nHow high? (So high that I can kiss the sky)\nHow sick? (So sick that you can suck my dick)\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nRecognize johnny blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n(How high?) So high that I can kiss the sky\n(How sick?) So sick that you can suck my dick\n\n'Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'til the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need your dirt weed, we got our fuckin' own\nCheck it\nI brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screaming for the antiseptic\nMoving on your left kid, and I'm Method\nOut my fucking dome piece, plus I got no love for the beast\nHailing from the big East Coast, where niggas pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpin and cut throats\n\nHey boy, you the rude boy on the block\nYou try to stop the bum rush, you will get popped\n\nAs I run a mile with a racist\nMy style was born in the pissy staircases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, I'm the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and Glocks in ya\nEnter the center, lyrics bang like Rico-chet Rabbit\nI brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts' an all-day habit\nI get it on like Smif 'n' Wess'; who clique's the best?\nPunks take a sip and test, who split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon, I'm bombing you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama just off stamina\n\nStyles not to be fucked with or played with\nFuck them pretty hoes, I love those Section 8 bit-ches\nHitting snitches, twisting wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga-boo\nScared you, blew you to smitha-reens\nFuck the Marines, I got machines\nThat like to spit and read Mad magazines\n\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like U.S. Air off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a halfway crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks 'em off proper\nAsk Biggie Smalls, \"Who Shot Ya?\"\nFunk Doctor with the 12-gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n\nYo Red, yo Red\nPunk ass, pussy ass\nWe ain't gotta show you no more, man\nWe out","syncedLyrics":"[00:04.56] Takin' it from the top?\n[00:06.14] (Hell yeah, we taking it from the top)\n[00:07.12] Tippy?\n[00:07.45] All my people (sing it, daddy)\n[00:09.40] Hey, uh\n[00:32.40] Excuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:34.71] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:36.92] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:39.33] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:41.39] Ticallion, hmmm\n[00:42.88] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:44.47] Hit your housing projects\n[00:45.65] I represent yo' Shaolin my nigga\n[00:47.81] Hell yes, apocalypse now, the gun blaow\n[00:50.23] It be goin' down, diggy diggy down, diggy down down\n[00:52.94] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:55.36] When I raise my trigger finger, all y'all niggas hit the deck\n[00:58.10] 'Cause ain't no need for that, hustlers and hardcore\n[01:01.09] Raw to the floor, raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[01:04.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:06.59] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam bitch\n[01:09.47] Plus, the Bombazee got me wide...\n[01:11.65] (Fuckin' with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:34.89] 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4\n[01:37.30] Three, two, murder one lyric at your door\n[01:40.13] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:42.01] Breaking all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:44.36] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:46.69] Fucker, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:49.17] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:51.39] More than you bargained for\n[01:52.84] Tical, that stays open like an all-night store\n[01:55.31] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:58.42] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[02:01.40] And end your existence, M-E-T\n[02:03.81] Ain't no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[02:06.83] I's be the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[02:07.20] The Egyptian musk used to have me pull mad sluts\n[02:08.03] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[02:08.56] Examine my nuts, I don't stop 'til I get enough\n[02:09.31] Yo' shit broke down, light your flair\n[02:11.92] This the dark side tears into Hollywood Squares\n[02:13.43] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[02:14.96] Made it six million and one with your eyes closed\n[02:17.53] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the wrath\n[02:20.17] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:23.31] Ayo my man (Tical) hear me now\n[02:25.59] Bitches used to play me, now they can't forget me now\n[02:28.15] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check Glock\n[02:30.38] Empty off a lickin' off in hip-hop\n[02:33.79] Fuck the Billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:35.96] How you dope when you paid for your Billboard spot?\n[02:49.95] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:50.25] (It's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' buddah on the train)\n[02:50.64] How high? (So high that I can kiss the sky)\n[02:51.04] How sick? (So sick that you can suck my dick)\n[02:51.39] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:51.74] Recognize johnny blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:52.12] (How high?) So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:52.48] (How sick?) So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:52.82] 'Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:53.22] It ain't really on 'til the Ruckus get, home\n[02:53.65] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:53.97] We don't need your dirt weed, we got our fuckin' own\n[02:54.37] Check it\n[02:55.09] I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:55.48] Bring the Pain lyrics screaming for the antiseptic\n[02:55.73] Moving on your left kid, and I'm Method\n[02:56.13] Out my fucking dome piece, plus I got no love for the beast\n[02:56.49] Hailing from the big East Coast, where niggas pack toast\n[02:56.89] Home of the drug kingpin and cut throats\n[02:57.21] Hey boy, you the rude boy on the block\n[02:57.51] You try to stop the bum rush, you will get popped\n[02:57.97] As I run a mile with a racist\n[02:58.63] My style was born in the pissy staircases\n[02:59.06] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[02:59.52] He talk about it while I live it\n[02:59.85] If Red got the blunt, I'm the second one to hit it\n[03:00.25] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and Glocks in ya\n[03:00.69] Enter the center, lyrics bang like Rico-chet Rabbit\n[03:06.07] I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:07.86] Rollin' blunts' an all-day habit\n[03:10.28] I get it on like Smif 'n' Wess'; who clique's the best?\n[03:12.37] Punks take a sip and test, who split your vest\n[03:15.33] The funk phenomenon, I'm bombing you like Lebanon\n[03:17.81] Blow canals of Panama just off stamina\n[03:45.25] Styles not to be fucked with or played with\n[03:45.65] Fuck them pretty hoes, I love those Section 8 bit-ches\n[03:46.08] Hitting snitches, twisting wigs with\n[03:46.45] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:46.80] I dig up in your planets like Diga-boo\n[03:47.03] Scared you, blew you to smitha-reens\n[03:47.49] Fuck the Marines, I got machines\n[03:47.83] That like to spit and read Mad magazines\n[03:48.48] I fly more heads than Continental\n[03:48.85] Wreck ya five times like U.S. Air off an instrumental\n[03:49.23] Look I'm not a halfway crook with bad looks\n[03:49.67] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[03:49.98] I breaks 'em off proper\n[03:50.35] Ask Biggie Smalls, \"Who Shot Ya?\"\n[03:50.67] Funk Doctor with the 12-gauge Mossberg\n[03:51.07] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[03:51.45] To make your mind tickle\n[03:51.86] For the nine nickle\n[03:52.12] Yo Red, yo Red\n[03:52.60] Punk ass, pussy ass\n[03:52.84] We ain't gotta show you no more, man\n[03:53.25] We out\n[03:53.65] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (remix) (PMEDIA)\n  artist: Method Man & Redman\n  album: '420 Hits: Method Man & Redman'\n  duration_ms: 239000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin' it from the top?\n  start_ms: 4560\n  end_ms: 6140\n- text: (Hell yeah, we taking it from the top)\n  start_ms: 6140\n  end_ms: 7120\n- text: Tippy?\n  start_ms: 7120\n  end_ms: 7450\n- text: All my people (sing it, daddy)\n  start_ms: 7450\n  end_ms: 9400\n- text: Hey, uh\n  start_ms: 9400\n  end_ms: 32400\n- text: Excuse me as I kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 32400\n  end_ms: 34710\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 34710\n  end_ms: 36920\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 36920\n  end_ms: 39330\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 39330\n  end_ms: 41390\n- text: Ticallion, hmmm\n  start_ms: 41390\n  end_ms: 42880\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 42880\n  end_ms: 44470\n- text: Hit your housing projects\n  start_ms: 44470\n  end_ms: 45650\n- text: I represent yo' Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 45650\n  end_ms: 47810\n- text: Hell yes, apocalypse now, the gun blaow\n  start_ms: 47810\n  end_ms: 50230\n- text: It be goin' down, diggy diggy down, diggy down down\n  start_ms: 50230\n  end_ms: 52940\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 52940\n  end_ms: 55360\n- text: When I raise my trigger finger, all y'all niggas hit the deck\n  start_ms: 55360\n  end_ms: 58100\n- text: '''Cause ain''t no need for that, hustlers and hardcore'\n  start_ms: 58100\n  end_ms: 61090\n- text: Raw to the floor, raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 61090\n  end_ms: 64600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 64600\n  end_ms: 66590\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam bitch\n  start_ms: 66590\n  end_ms: 69470\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wide...\n  start_ms: 69470\n  end_ms: 71650\n- text: (Fuckin' with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 71650\n  end_ms: 94890\n- text: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4\n  start_ms: 94890\n  end_ms: 97300\n- text: Three, two, murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 97300\n  end_ms: 100130\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 100130\n  end_ms: 102010\n- text: Breaking all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 102010\n  end_ms: 104360\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 104360\n  end_ms: 106690\n- text: Fucker, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 106690\n  end_ms: 109170\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 109170\n  end_ms: 111390\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 111390\n  end_ms: 112840\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all-night store\n  start_ms: 112840\n  end_ms: 115310\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 115310\n  end_ms: 118420\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 118420\n  end_ms: 121400\n- text: And end your existence, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 121400\n  end_ms: 123810\n- text: Ain't no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 123810\n  end_ms: 126830\n- text: I's be the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 126830\n  end_ms: 127200\n- text: The Egyptian musk used to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 127200\n  end_ms: 128030\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 128030\n  end_ms: 128560\n- text: Examine my nuts, I don't stop 'til I get enough\n  start_ms: 128560\n  end_ms: 129310\n- text: Yo' shit broke down, light your flair\n  start_ms: 129310\n  end_ms: 131920\n- text: This the dark side tears into Hollywood Squares\n  start_ms: 131920\n  end_ms: 133430\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 133430\n  end_ms: 134960\n- text: Made it six million and one with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 134960\n  end_ms: 137530\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the wrath\n  start_ms: 137530\n  end_ms: 140170\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 140170\n  end_ms: 143310\n- text: Ayo my man (Tical) hear me now\n  start_ms: 143310\n  end_ms: 145590\n- text: Bitches used to play me, now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 145590\n  end_ms: 148150\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check Glock\n  start_ms: 148150\n  end_ms: 150380\n- text: Empty off a lickin' off in hip-hop\n  start_ms: 150380\n  end_ms: 153790\n- text: Fuck the Billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 153790\n  end_ms: 155960\n- text: How you dope when you paid for your Billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 155960\n  end_ms: 169950\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 169950\n  end_ms: 170250\n- text: (It's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' buddah on the train)\n  start_ms: 170250\n  end_ms: 170640\n- text: How high? (So high that I can kiss the sky)\n  start_ms: 170640\n  end_ms: 171040\n- text: How sick? (So sick that you can suck my dick)\n  start_ms: 171040\n  end_ms: 171390\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 171390\n  end_ms: 171740\n- text: Recognize johnny blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 171740\n  end_ms: 172120\n- text: (How high?) So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 172120\n  end_ms: 172480\n- text: (How sick?) So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 172480\n  end_ms: 172820\n- text: '''Til my man Raider Ruckus come home'\n  start_ms: 172820\n  end_ms: 173220\n- text: It ain't really on 'til the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 173220\n  end_ms: 173650\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 173650\n  end_ms: 173970\n- text: We don't need your dirt weed, we got our fuckin' own\n  start_ms: 173970\n  end_ms: 174370\n- text: Check it\n  start_ms: 174370\n  end_ms: 175090\n- text: I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 175090\n  end_ms: 175480\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screaming for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 175480\n  end_ms: 175730\n- text: Moving on your left kid, and I'm Method\n  start_ms: 175730\n  end_ms: 176130\n- text: Out my fucking dome piece, plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 176130\n  end_ms: 176490\n- text: Hailing from the big East Coast, where niggas pack toast\n  start_ms: 176490\n  end_ms: 176890\n- text: Home of the drug kingpin and cut throats\n  start_ms: 176890\n  end_ms: 177210\n- text: Hey boy, you the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 177210\n  end_ms: 177510\n- text: You try to stop the bum rush, you will get popped\n  start_ms: 177510\n  end_ms: 177970\n- text: As I run a mile with a racist\n  start_ms: 177970\n  end_ms: 178630\n- text: My style was born in the pissy staircases\n  start_ms: 178630\n  end_ms: 179060\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 179060\n  end_ms: 179520\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 179520\n  end_ms: 179850\n- text: If Red got the blunt, I'm the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 179850\n  end_ms: 180250\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and Glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 180250\n  end_ms: 180690\n- text: Enter the center, lyrics bang like Rico-chet Rabbit\n  start_ms: 180690\n  end_ms: 186070\n- text: I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 186070\n  end_ms: 187860\n- text: Rollin' blunts' an all-day habit\n  start_ms: 187860\n  end_ms: 190280\n- text: I get it on like Smif 'n' Wess'; who clique's the best?\n  start_ms: 190280\n  end_ms: 192370\n- text: Punks take a sip and test, who split your vest\n  start_ms: 192370\n  end_ms: 195330\n- text: The funk phenomenon, I'm bombing you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 195330\n  end_ms: 197810\n- text: Blow canals of Panama just off stamina\n  start_ms: 197810\n  end_ms: 225250\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with or played with\n  start_ms: 225250\n  end_ms: 225650\n- text: Fuck them pretty hoes, I love those Section 8 bit-ches\n  start_ms: 225650\n  end_ms: 226080\n- text: Hitting snitches, twisting wigs with\n  start_ms: 226080\n  end_ms: 226450\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 226450\n  end_ms: 226800\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga-boo\n  start_ms: 226800\n  end_ms: 227030\n- text: Scared you, blew you to smitha-reens\n  start_ms: 227030\n  end_ms: 227490\n- text: Fuck the Marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 227490\n  end_ms: 227830\n- text: That like to spit and read Mad magazines\n  start_ms: 227830\n  end_ms: 228480\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 228480\n  end_ms: 228850\n- text: Wreck ya five times like U.S. Air off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 228850\n  end_ms: 229230\n- text: Look I'm not a halfway crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 229230\n  end_ms: 229670\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 229670\n  end_ms: 229980\n- text: I breaks 'em off proper\n  start_ms: 229980\n  end_ms: 230350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls, \"Who Shot Ya?\"\n  start_ms: 230350\n  end_ms: 230670\n- text: Funk Doctor with the 12-gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 230670\n  end_ms: 231070\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 231070\n  end_ms: 231450\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 231450\n  end_ms: 231860\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 231860\n  end_ms: 232120\n- text: Yo Red, yo Red\n  start_ms: 232120\n  end_ms: 232600\n- text: Punk ass, pussy ass\n  start_ms: 232600\n  end_ms: 232840\n- text: We ain't gotta show you no more, man\n  start_ms: 232840\n  end_ms: 233250\n- text: We out\n  start_ms: 233250\n  end_ms: 233650\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 233650\nplain: |-\n  Takin' it from the top?\n  (Hell yeah, we taking it from the top)\n  Tippy?\n  All my people (sing it, daddy)\n  Hey, uh\n\n  Excuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Ticallion, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your housing projects\n  I represent yo' Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, apocalypse now, the gun blaow\n  It be goin' down, diggy diggy down, diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigger finger, all y'all niggas hit the deck\n  'Cause ain't no need for that, hustlers and hardcore\n  Raw to the floor, raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wide...\n  (Fuckin' with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4\n  Three, two, murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breaking all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucker, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all-night store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existence, M-E-T\n  Ain't no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I's be the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian musk used to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I don't stop 'til I get enough\n  Yo' shit broke down, light your flair\n  This the dark side tears into Hollywood Squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it six million and one with your eyes closed\n\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the wrath\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  Ayo my man (Tical) hear me now\n  Bitches used to play me, now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check Glock\n  Empty off a lickin' off in hip-hop\n  Fuck the Billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you paid for your Billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  (It's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' buddah on the train)\n  How high? (So high that I can kiss the sky)\n  How sick? (So sick that you can suck my dick)\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  Recognize johnny blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  (How high?) So high that I can kiss the sky\n  (How sick?) So sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  'Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'til the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need your dirt weed, we got our fuckin' own\n  Check it\n  I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screaming for the antiseptic\n  Moving on your left kid, and I'm Method\n  Out my fucking dome piece, plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailing from the big East Coast, where niggas pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpin and cut throats\n\n  Hey boy, you the rude boy on the block\n  You try to stop the bum rush, you will get popped\n\n  As I run a mile with a racist\n  My style was born in the pissy staircases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, I'm the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and Glocks in ya\n  Enter the center, lyrics bang like Rico-chet Rabbit\n  I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts' an all-day habit\n  I get it on like Smif 'n' Wess'; who clique's the best?\n  Punks take a sip and test, who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon, I'm bombing you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama just off stamina\n\n  Styles not to be fucked with or played with\n  Fuck them pretty hoes, I love those Section 8 bit-ches\n  Hitting snitches, twisting wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga-boo\n  Scared you, blew you to smitha-reens\n  Fuck the Marines, I got machines\n  That like to spit and read Mad magazines\n\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like U.S. Air off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a halfway crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks 'em off proper\n  Ask Biggie Smalls, \"Who Shot Ya?\"\n  Funk Doctor with the 12-gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n\n  Yo Red, yo Red\n  Punk ass, pussy ass\n  We ain't gotta show you no more, man\n  We out\n"},{"id":23748224,"name":"How High (Remix)","trackName":"How High (Remix)","artistName":"Method Man","albumName":"420 Hits: Method Man & Redman","duration":239.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Latest record? We stole it from somebody else\nTakin' it from the top? (Top)\n(Hell yeah, we takin' it from the top)\nTippy? (Tippy)\nCome on, my people\nSing it, daddy\nHey\nFly robin, fly (we rock)\nHa (yeah, ah), ha ha\nHa ha (aha)\nFly robin, fly\n(Taking my mind where it's never gone before)\nFly robin, fly (and so like a mushroom in cow shit)\n(And I'm taking it just to get the ultimate high, baby)\n(Redman)\nUp, up to the sky (the ultimate high, ohh)\n(Method Man)\nExcuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocket full a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture?\nStalk the dead body like a vulture, Ticalion, hmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your housing projects\nI represent yo' Shaolin, my nigga\nNow yes, Apocalypse now, the gun pow\nIt be going down, diggy diggy down, diggy down down\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigger finger all y'all niggas hit the deck (yeah)\n'Cause ain't no need for that, hustlers and hardcore\nRaw to the floor, raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more fruitier loops than that Toucan Sam bitch\nPlus the Bombazee got me wide\nMessing with them\nIs a straight suicide\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' lah on the train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n(Up, up to the sky) yeaheah, check it out y'all, uh\n(Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane)\nRecognize Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n(Up, up to the sky) yeah, yeah, Tical\nTen, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four\nThree, two, murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreaking all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mines to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, I stays open like an all night store (yeah, yeah, ah)\nFor real I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existence, M-E-T (yeah)\nAin't no use for resistance, H-O-D\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I don't stop 'til I get enough\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it six million and one with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold cold, so you can feel the wrath\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your funky ass\nAnd, yo, my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches used to play me now they can't forget me now\nThey get me mad, I rock the spot, check Glock\nEmpty off a licking off a hip-hop\nFuck the Billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you paid for your Billboard spot?\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' la) on the train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n(Up, up to the sky) yeah, yeah, ha, word up\nAs I run a mile with a racist\nMy style was born in the pissy staircases\nDig it, F a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, I'm the second one to hit it\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and Glocks in ya\nEnter the center, lyrics bang like Ricochet Rabbit\nI brings havoc with an AK 'matic, rolling blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smith & Wes', who clique's the best?\nPunks take a sip and test, who splits your vest?\nThe funk phenomenon, I'm bombing you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama just off stamina\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' lah on the train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n(Up, up to the sky) yeah, huh, huh, yeah, yeah\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nRecognize Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n(Up, up to the sky) yeah yeah, word up\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' lah on the train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n(Up, up to the sky)\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nRecognize Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high?","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (Remix)\n  artist: Method Man\n  album: '420 Hits: Method Man & Redman'\n  duration_ms: 239000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Latest record? We stole it from somebody else\n  Takin' it from the top? (Top)\n  (Hell yeah, we takin' it from the top)\n  Tippy? (Tippy)\n  Come on, my people\n  Sing it, daddy\n  Hey\n  Fly robin, fly (we rock)\n  Ha (yeah, ah), ha ha\n  Ha ha (aha)\n  Fly robin, fly\n  (Taking my mind where it's never gone before)\n  Fly robin, fly (and so like a mushroom in cow shit)\n  (And I'm taking it just to get the ultimate high, baby)\n  (Redman)\n  Up, up to the sky (the ultimate high, ohh)\n  (Method Man)\n  Excuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture?\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture, Ticalion, hmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your housing projects\n  I represent yo' Shaolin, my nigga\n  Now yes, Apocalypse now, the gun pow\n  It be going down, diggy diggy down, diggy down down\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigger finger all y'all niggas hit the deck (yeah)\n  'Cause ain't no need for that, hustlers and hardcore\n  Raw to the floor, raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more fruitier loops than that Toucan Sam bitch\n  Plus the Bombazee got me wide\n  Messing with them\n  Is a straight suicide\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' lah on the train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  (Up, up to the sky) yeaheah, check it out y'all, uh\n  (Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane)\n  Recognize Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  (Up, up to the sky) yeah, yeah, Tical\n  Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four\n  Three, two, murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breaking all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mines to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, I stays open like an all night store (yeah, yeah, ah)\n  For real I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existence, M-E-T (yeah)\n  Ain't no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I don't stop 'til I get enough\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it six million and one with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold cold, so you can feel the wrath\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your funky ass\n  And, yo, my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches used to play me now they can't forget me now\n  They get me mad, I rock the spot, check Glock\n  Empty off a licking off a hip-hop\n  Fuck the Billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you paid for your Billboard spot?\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' la) on the train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  (Up, up to the sky) yeah, yeah, ha, word up\n  As I run a mile with a racist\n  My style was born in the pissy staircases\n  Dig it, F a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, I'm the second one to hit it\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and Glocks in ya\n  Enter the center, lyrics bang like Ricochet Rabbit\n  I brings havoc with an AK 'matic, rolling blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smith & Wes', who clique's the best?\n  Punks take a sip and test, who splits your vest?\n  The funk phenomenon, I'm bombing you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama just off stamina\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' lah on the train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  (Up, up to the sky) yeah, huh, huh, yeah, yeah\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  Recognize Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  (Up, up to the sky) yeah yeah, word up\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the Funk Doctor Spock smokin' lah on the train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  (Up, up to the sky)\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  Recognize Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high?\n"},{"id":29696592,"name":"How High (remix)","trackName":"How High (remix)","artistName":"Method Man & Redman","albumName":"How High","duration":240.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05] Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98] Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63] How High?...\n[00:21.69] The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95] 'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17] Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51] Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10] I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92] Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39] It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22] When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43] Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75] Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84] Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70] (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64] Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37] Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73] Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43] More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51] Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30] And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78] Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15] The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59] Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94] Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81] Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85] Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84] And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58] Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49] Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04] Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95] How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69] It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96] Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74] How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01] How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23] Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26] Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15] How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75] How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16] It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99] We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56] Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88] Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47] Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72] Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42] Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27] Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86] Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64] (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26] You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91] As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96] My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66] He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45] If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64] Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00] Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68] Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74] I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39] Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63] Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98] Who split your vest\n[03:41.91] The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56] I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65] Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16] Just off stamina\n[03:47.42] Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05] Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23] Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14] I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20] Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50] Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41] To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22] I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33] Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59] Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67] I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35] Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81] Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04] To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06] For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69] (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79] Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50] (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (remix)\n  artist: Method Man & Redman\n  album: How High\n  duration_ms: 240000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"},{"id":30130016,"name":"How High (Remix)","trackName":"How High (Remix)","artistName":"Method Man & Redman","albumName":"How High","duration":236.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05] Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98] Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63] How High?...\n[00:21.69] The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95] 'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17] Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51] Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10] I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92] Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39] It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22] When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43] Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75] Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84] Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70] (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64] Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37] Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73] Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43] More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51] Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30] And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78] Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15] The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59] Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94] Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81] Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85] Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84] And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58] Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49] Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04] Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95] How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69] It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96] Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74] How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01] How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23] Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26] Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15] How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75] How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16] It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99] We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56] Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88] Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47] Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72] Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42] Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27] Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86] Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64] (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26] You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91] As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96] My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66] He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45] If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64] Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00] Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68] Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74] I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39] Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63] Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98] Who split your vest\n[03:41.91] The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56] I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65] Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16] Just off stamina\n[03:47.42] Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05] Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23] Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14] I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20] Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50] Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41] To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22] I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33] Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59] Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67] I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35] Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81] Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04] To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06] For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69] (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79] Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50] (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (Remix)\n  artist: Method Man & Redman\n  album: How High\n  duration_ms: 236000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"},{"id":37111529,"name":"How High - Remix","trackName":"How High - Remix","artistName":"Redman, Method Man","albumName":"How High","duration":240.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05] Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98] Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63] How High?...\n[00:21.69] The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95] 'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17] Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51] Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10] I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92] Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39] It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22] When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43] Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75] Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84] Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70] (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64] Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37] Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73] Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43] More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51] Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30] And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78] Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15] The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59] Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94] Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81] Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85] Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84] And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58] Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49] Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04] Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95] How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69] It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96] Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74] How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01] How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23] Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26] Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15] How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75] How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16] It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99] We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56] Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88] Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47] Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72] Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42] Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27] Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86] Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64] (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26] You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91] As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96] My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66] He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45] If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64] Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00] Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68] Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74] I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39] Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63] Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98] Who split your vest\n[03:41.91] The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56] I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65] Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16] Just off stamina\n[03:47.42] Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05] Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23] Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14] I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20] Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50] Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41] To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22] I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33] Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59] Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67] I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35] Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81] Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04] To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06] For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69] (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79] Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50] (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High - Remix\n  artist: Redman, Method Man\n  album: How High\n  duration_ms: 240000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"},{"id":29307931,"name":"How High (remix)","trackName":"How High (remix)","artistName":"Method Man & Redman","albumName":"How High","duration":243.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05] Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98] Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63] How High?...\n[00:21.69] The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95] 'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17] Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51] Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10] I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92] Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39] It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22] When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43] Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75] Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84] Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70] (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64] Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37] Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73] Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43] More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51] Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30] And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78] Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15] The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59] Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94] Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81] Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85] Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84] And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58] Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49] Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04] Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95] How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69] It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96] Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74] How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01] How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23] Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26] Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15] How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75] How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16] It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99] We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56] Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88] Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47] Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72] Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42] Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27] Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86] Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64] (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26] You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91] As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96] My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66] He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45] If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64] Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00] Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68] Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74] I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39] Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63] Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98] Who split your vest\n[03:41.91] The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56] I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65] Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16] Just off stamina\n[03:47.42] Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05] Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23] Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14] I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20] Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50] Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41] To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22] I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33] Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59] Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67] I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35] Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81] Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04] To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06] For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69] (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79] Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50] (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (remix)\n  artist: Method Man & Redman\n  album: How High\n  duration_ms: 243000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"},{"id":29520239,"name":"How High Remix","trackName":"How High Remix","artistName":"Method Man&Redman","albumName":"BO How High","duration":240.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05] Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98] Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63] How High?...\n[00:21.69] The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95] 'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17] Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51] Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10] I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92] Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39] It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22] When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43] Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75] Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84] Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70] (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64] Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37] Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73] Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43] More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51] Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30] And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78] Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15] The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59] Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94] Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81] Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85] Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84] And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58] Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49] Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04] Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95] How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69] It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96] Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74] How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01] How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23] Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26] Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15] How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75] How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16] It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99] We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56] Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88] Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47] Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72] Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42] Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27] Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86] Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64] (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26] You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91] As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96] My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66] He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45] If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64] Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00] Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68] Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74] I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39] Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63] Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98] Who split your vest\n[03:41.91] The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56] I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65] Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16] Just off stamina\n[03:47.42] Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05] Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23] Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14] I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20] Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50] Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41] To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22] I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33] Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59] Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67] I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35] Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81] Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04] To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06] For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69] (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79] Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50] (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High Remix\n  artist: Method Man&Redman\n  album: BO How High\n  duration_ms: 240000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"},{"id":31263187,"name":"How High Remix","trackName":"How High Remix","artistName":"Method Man&Redman","albumName":"How High OST","duration":240.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05] Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98] Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63] How High?...\n[00:21.69] The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95] 'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17] Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51] Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10] I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92] Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39] It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22] When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43] Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75] Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84] Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70] (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64] Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37] Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73] Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43] More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51] Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30] And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78] Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15] The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59] Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94] Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81] Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85] Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84] And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58] Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49] Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04] Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95] How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69] It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96] Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74] How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01] How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23] Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26] Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15] How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75] How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16] It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99] We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56] Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88] Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47] Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72] Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42] Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27] Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86] Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64] (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26] You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91] As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96] My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66] He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45] If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64] Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00] Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68] Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74] I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39] Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63] Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98] Who split your vest\n[03:41.91] The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56] I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65] Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16] Just off stamina\n[03:47.42] Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05] Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23] Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14] I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20] Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50] Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41] To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22] I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33] Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59] Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67] I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35] Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81] Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04] To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06] For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69] (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79] Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50] (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High Remix\n  artist: Method Man&Redman\n  album: How High OST\n  duration_ms: 240000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"},{"id":36595006,"name":"How High (Remix)","trackName":"How High (Remix)","artistName":"Method Man & Redman","albumName":"How High (12\")","duration":239.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05] Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98] Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63] How High?...\n[00:21.69] The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95] 'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17] Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51] Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10] I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92] Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39] It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22] When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43] Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75] Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84] Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70] (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64] Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37] Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73] Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43] More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51] Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30] And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78] Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15] The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59] Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94] Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81] Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85] Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84] And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58] Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49] Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04] Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95] How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69] It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96] Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74] How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01] How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23] Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26] Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15] How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75] How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16] It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99] We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56] Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88] Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47] Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72] Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42] Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27] Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86] Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64] (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26] You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91] As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96] My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66] He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45] If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64] Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00] Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68] Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74] I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39] Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63] Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98] Who split your vest\n[03:41.91] The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56] I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65] Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16] Just off stamina\n[03:47.42] Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05] Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23] Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14] I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20] Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50] Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41] To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22] I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33] Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59] Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67] I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35] Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81] Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04] To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06] For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69] (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79] Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50] (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (Remix)\n  artist: Method Man & Redman\n  album: How High (12\")\n  duration_ms: 239000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"},{"id":38078011,"name":"How High [Remix]","trackName":"How High [Remix]","artistName":"Method Man, Redman","albumName":"How High [Clean]","duration":241.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05]Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98]Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63]How High?...\n[00:21.69]The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95]'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86]Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21]Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58]Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17]Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79]Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51]Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10]I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92]Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39]It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76]While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22]When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43]Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75]Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60]The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01]With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84]Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70](Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64]Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22]Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37]Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41]Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73]Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02]I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43]More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51]Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64]For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48]Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30]And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78]Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08]I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15]The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54]I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59]Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94]Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81]Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29]Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85]Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72]The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02]And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84]And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58]Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84]Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49]Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04]Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95]How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79]Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69]It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96]Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74]How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01]How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23]Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26]Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15]How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75]How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80]Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16]It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00]Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99]We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56]Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88]Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47]Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72]Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42]Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27]Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86]Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64](Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26]You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91]As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96]My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88]Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66]He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45]If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83]Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64]Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00]Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68]Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74]I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39]Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63]Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98]Who split your vest\n[03:41.91]The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56]I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65]Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16]Just off stamina\n[03:47.42]Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05]Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23]Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22]Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14]I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20]Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50]Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41]To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22]I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33]Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59]Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19]But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67]I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35]Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81]Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23]Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04]To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06]For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69](Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79]Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50](You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79]","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High [Remix]\n  artist: Method Man, Redman\n  album: How High [Clean]\n  duration_ms: 241000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"},{"id":19138766,"name":"How High (remix) (radio edit)","trackName":"How High (remix) (radio edit)","artistName":"Method Man & Redman","albumName":"How High","duration":242.693333,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, HMMM\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we dont need no rap tour\nId rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n6 million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they cant forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, Im a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock smokin buddha on a train\nHOW HIGH? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHOW SICK? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHOW HIGH? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHOW SICK? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe dont need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nIm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\nWord up Tical, We Out\n(IT'S OVER)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (remix) (radio edit)\n  artist: Method Man & Redman\n  album: How High\n  duration_ms: 242693\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, HMMM\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we dont need no rap tour\n  Id rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  6 million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they cant forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, Im a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock smokin buddha on a train\n  HOW HIGH? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  HOW SICK? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  HOW HIGH? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  HOW SICK? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We dont need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  Im bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  Word up Tical, We Out\n  (IT'S OVER)\n"},{"id":16441398,"name":"How High (remix) (radio edit)","trackName":"How High (remix) (radio edit)","artistName":"Method Man & Redman","albumName":"How High","duration":238.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, HMMM\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we dont need no rap tour\nId rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n6 million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they cant forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, Im a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock smokin buddha on a train\nHOW HIGH? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHOW SICK? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHOW HIGH? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHOW SICK? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe dont need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nIm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\nWord up Tical, We Out\n(IT'S OVER)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (remix) (radio edit)\n  artist: Method Man & Redman\n  album: How High\n  duration_ms: 238000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, HMMM\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we dont need no rap tour\n  Id rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  6 million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they cant forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, Im a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock smokin buddha on a train\n  HOW HIGH? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  HOW SICK? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  HOW HIGH? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  HOW SICK? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We dont need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  Im bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  Word up Tical, We Out\n  (IT'S OVER)\n"},{"id":38185189,"name":"How High (Remix) [Radio Edit]","trackName":"How High (Remix) [Radio Edit]","artistName":"Redman & Method Man","albumName":"How High","duration":241.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, HMMM\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we dont need no rap tour\nId rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n6 million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they cant forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, Im a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock smokin buddha on a train\nHOW HIGH? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHOW SICK? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHOW HIGH? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHOW SICK? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe dont need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nIm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\nWord up Tical, We Out\n(IT'S OVER)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (Remix) [Radio Edit]\n  artist: Redman & Method Man\n  album: How High\n  duration_ms: 241000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, HMMM\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we dont need no rap tour\n  Id rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  6 million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they cant forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, Im a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock smokin buddha on a train\n  HOW HIGH? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  HOW SICK? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  HOW HIGH? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  HOW SICK? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We dont need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  Im bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  Word up Tical, We Out\n  (IT'S OVER)\n"},{"id":40021877,"name":"How High (Remix Radio Edit)","trackName":"How High (Remix Radio Edit)","artistName":"Redman & Method Man","albumName":"How High","duration":238.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, HMMM\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we dont need no rap tour\nId rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n6 million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they cant forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, Im a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock smokin buddha on a train\nHOW HIGH? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHOW SICK? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHOW HIGH? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHOW SICK? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe dont need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nIm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\nWord up Tical, We Out\n(IT'S OVER)","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (Remix Radio Edit)\n  artist: Redman & Method Man\n  album: How High\n  duration_ms: 238446\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, HMMM\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we dont need no rap tour\n  Id rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  6 million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they cant forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, Im a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock smokin buddha on a train\n  HOW HIGH? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  HOW SICK? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  HOW HIGH? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  HOW SICK? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We dont need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  Im bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  Word up Tical, We Out\n  (IT'S OVER)\n"},{"id":29637443,"name":"How High (remix)","trackName":"How High (remix)","artistName":"Method Man & Redman","albumName":"How High: The Soundtrack","duration":240.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05] Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98] Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63] How High?...\n[00:21.69] The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95] 'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17] Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51] Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10] I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92] Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39] It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22] When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43] Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75] Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84] Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70] (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64] Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37] Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73] Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43] More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51] Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30] And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78] Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15] The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59] Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94] Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81] Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85] Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84] And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58] Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49] Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04] Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95] How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69] It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96] Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74] How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01] How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23] Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26] Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15] How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75] How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16] It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99] We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56] Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88] Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47] Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72] Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42] Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27] Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86] Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64] (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26] You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91] As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96] My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66] He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45] If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64] Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00] Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68] Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74] I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39] Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63] Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98] Who split your vest\n[03:41.91] The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56] I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65] Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16] Just off stamina\n[03:47.42] Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05] Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23] Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14] I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20] Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50] Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41] To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22] I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33] Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59] Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67] I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35] Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81] Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04] To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06] For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69] (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79] Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50] (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (remix)\n  artist: Method Man & Redman\n  album: 'How High: The Soundtrack'\n  duration_ms: 240000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"},{"id":24084416,"name":"How High (Remix)","trackName":"How High (Remix)","artistName":"Method Man And Redman","albumName":"How High Soundtrack","duration":239.8355,"instrumental":true,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":null,"syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (Remix)\n  artist: Method Man And Redman\n  album: How High Soundtrack\n  duration_ms: 239836\n  instrumental: true\nlines: []\n"},{"id":24020787,"name":"How High (Remix)","trackName":"How High (Remix)","artistName":"Method Man and Redman","albumName":"How High Soundtrack","duration":239.890437,"instrumental":true,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":null,"syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High (Remix)\n  artist: Method Man and Redman\n  album: How High Soundtrack\n  duration_ms: 239890\n  instrumental: true\nlines: []\n"},{"id":35153545,"name":"How High - Remix","trackName":"How High - Remix","artistName":"Method Man, Redman","albumName":"How High (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)","duration":240.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05] Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98] Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63] How High?...\n[00:21.69] The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95] 'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17] Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51] Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10] I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92] Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39] It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22] When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43] Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75] Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84] Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70] (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64] Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37] Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73] Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43] More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51] Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30] And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78] Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15] The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59] Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94] Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81] Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85] Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84] And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58] Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49] Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04] Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95] How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69] It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96] Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74] How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01] How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23] Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26] Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15] How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75] How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16] It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99] We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56] Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88] Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47] Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72] Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42] Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27] Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86] Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64] (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26] You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91] As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96] My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66] He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45] If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64] Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00] Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68] Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74] I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39] Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63] Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98] Who split your vest\n[03:41.91] The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56] I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65] Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16] Just off stamina\n[03:47.42] Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05] Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23] Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14] I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20] Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50] Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41] To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22] I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33] Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59] Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67] I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35] Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81] Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04] To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06] For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69] (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79] Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50] (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High - Remix\n  artist: Method Man, Redman\n  album: How High (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)\n  duration_ms: 240000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"},{"id":35153547,"name":"How High - Remix","trackName":"How High - Remix","artistName":"Method Man, Redman","albumName":"How High (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)","duration":237.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Takin it from the top?\nTippy? Tippy?\n\nHow High?...\nThe Ultimate High...\n\n'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\nSing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\nWho the fuck wanna die for their culture\nStalk the dead body like a vulture\nTical get, hmmm\nBlacker than your blackest stallion\nHit your house'n projects\nI represent the Shaolin my nigga\nHell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\nIt be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\nWhile the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\nWhen I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\nCause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\nRaw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\nThe Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\nWith more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\nPlus, the Bombazee got me wild\n(Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\nThree two Murder one lyric at your door\nTical bring it to that ass raw\nBreakin all the rules like glass jaws\nNigga, you got to get mine to get yours\nFucka, we don't need no rap tour\nI'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\nMore than you bargained for\nTical, that stays open like an all nite store\nFor real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\nPointed at your temple with the intent to kill\nAnd end your existance, M-E-T\nAint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\nI bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\nThe Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\nI shift like a clutch with the Ruck\nExamine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\nYour shit broke down, light your flare\nSince the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\nSix million ways to die, so I chose\nMade it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\nThe blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\nAnd shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\nAnd yo my man (Tical) hit me now\nBitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\nForget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\nEmpty off a lickin off a hip hop\nFuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\nHow you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\nLook up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\nIt's the funk doctor spock\nSmokin buddha on a train\nHow high? So high that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\nLook up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\nRecognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\nHow high? So High that I can kiss the sky\nHow sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\nTil my man Raider Ruckus come home\nIt ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\nPuff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\nWe don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\nCheck it, I brings havoc with my hectic\nBring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\nMovin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\nPlus I got no love for the beast\nHailin from the big East Coast\nWhere niggaz pack toast\nHome of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n(Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\nYou try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\nAs I run around with a racist\nMy style was born in the 50 stair cases\nDig it, eff a rap critic\nHe talk about it while I live it\nIf Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\nLook up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\nEnter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\nRabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\nRollin' blunts an all day habit\nI get it on like Smiff and Wess\nWho clicks the best\nPunks take a sip and test\nWho split your vest\nThe funk phenomenon\nI'm bombin you like Lebanon\nBlow canals of Panama\nJust off stamina\nStyles not to be fucked with, or played with\nFuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\nHittin switches, Twistin wigs with\nFat radical mathematical type scriptures\nI dig up in your planets like Diga,\nBoo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\nFuck the marines, I got machines\nTo light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\nI fly more heads than Continental\nWreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\nLook I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\nBut I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\nI breaks em up proppa\nAsk Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\nFunk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\nLook, I got the tools like Rickle\nTo make your mind tickle\nFor the nine nickle\n(Yo Red, yo Red!)\nPunk ass pussy ass\n(You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)","syncedLyrics":"[00:02.05] Takin it from the top?\n[00:03.98] Tippy? Tippy?\n[00:20.63] How High?...\n[00:21.69] The Ultimate High...\n[00:27.95] 'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n[00:30.86] Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n[00:33.21] Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n[00:35.58] Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n[00:37.17] Tical get, hmmm\n[00:38.79] Blacker than your blackest stallion\n[00:40.51] Hit your house'n projects\n[00:42.10] I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n[00:43.92] Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n[00:46.39] It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n[00:48.76] While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n[00:51.22] When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n[00:54.43] Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n[00:56.75] Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n[00:59.60] The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n[01:02.01] With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n[01:04.84] Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n[01:07.70] (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n[01:12.64] Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n[01:15.22] Tical bring it to that ass raw\n[01:17.37] Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n[01:19.41] Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n[01:21.73] Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n[01:24.02] I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n[01:26.43] More than you bargained for\n[01:28.51] Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n[01:30.64] For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n[01:33.48] Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n[01:36.30] And end your existance, M-E-T\n[01:38.78] Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n[01:41.08] I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n[01:44.15] The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n[01:46.54] I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n[01:48.59] Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n[01:51.94] Your shit broke down, light your flare\n[01:53.81] Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n[01:57.29] Six million ways to die, so I chose\n[01:59.85] Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n[02:02.72] The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n[02:05.02] And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n[02:07.84] And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n[02:10.58] Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n[02:12.84] Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n[02:15.49] Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n[02:18.04] Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n[02:20.95] How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n[02:23.79] Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n[02:25.69] It's the funk doctor spock\n[02:26.96] Smokin buddha on a train\n[02:28.74] How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n[02:31.01] How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:34.23] Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n[02:36.26] Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n[02:39.15] How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n[02:41.75] How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n[02:43.80] Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n[02:46.16] It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n[02:49.00] Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n[02:51.99] We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n[02:54.56] Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n[02:56.88] Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n[02:59.47] Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n[03:03.72] Plus I got no love for the beast\n[03:05.42] Hailin from the big East Coast\n[03:07.27] Where niggaz pack toast\n[03:08.86] Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n[03:10.64] (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n[03:13.26] You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n[03:15.91] As I run around with a racist\n[03:17.96] My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n[03:20.88] Dig it, eff a rap critic\n[03:22.66] He talk about it while I live it\n[03:24.45] If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n[03:26.83] Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n[03:29.64] Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n[03:32.00] Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n[03:34.68] Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n[03:36.74] I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n[03:38.39] Who clicks the best\n[03:39.63] Punks take a sip and test\n[03:40.98] Who split your vest\n[03:41.91] The funk phenomenon\n[03:43.56] I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n[03:44.65] Blow canals of Panama\n[03:46.16] Just off stamina\n[03:47.42] Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n[03:50.05] Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n[03:53.23] Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n[03:55.22] Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n[03:58.14] I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n[04:00.20] Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n[04:03.50] Fuck the marines, I got machines\n[04:05.41] To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n[04:08.22] I fly more heads than Continental\n[04:10.33] Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n[04:13.59] Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n[04:16.19] But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n[04:18.67] I breaks em up proppa\n[04:20.35] Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n[04:21.81] Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n[04:24.23] Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n[04:26.04] To make your mind tickle\n[04:27.06] For the nine nickle\n[04:28.69] (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n[04:29.79] Punk ass pussy ass\n[04:32.50] (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n[04:40.79] ","lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: How High - Remix\n  artist: Method Man, Redman\n  album: How High (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)\n  duration_ms: 237000\n  instrumental: false\nlines:\n- text: Takin it from the top?\n  start_ms: 2050\n  end_ms: 3980\n- text: Tippy? Tippy?\n  start_ms: 3980\n  end_ms: 20630\n- text: How High?...\n  start_ms: 20630\n  end_ms: 21690\n- text: The Ultimate High...\n  start_ms: 21690\n  end_ms: 27950\n- text: '''Scuse me as I kiss the sky'\n  start_ms: 27950\n  end_ms: 30860\n- text: Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  start_ms: 30860\n  end_ms: 33210\n- text: Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  start_ms: 33210\n  end_ms: 35580\n- text: Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  start_ms: 35580\n  end_ms: 37170\n- text: Tical get, hmmm\n  start_ms: 37170\n  end_ms: 38790\n- text: Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  start_ms: 38790\n  end_ms: 40510\n- text: Hit your house'n projects\n  start_ms: 40510\n  end_ms: 42100\n- text: I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  start_ms: 42100\n  end_ms: 43920\n- text: Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  start_ms: 43920\n  end_ms: 46390\n- text: It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n  start_ms: 46390\n  end_ms: 48760\n- text: While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  start_ms: 48760\n  end_ms: 51220\n- text: When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  start_ms: 51220\n  end_ms: 54430\n- text: Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  start_ms: 54430\n  end_ms: 56750\n- text: Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  start_ms: 56750\n  end_ms: 59600\n- text: The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  start_ms: 59600\n  end_ms: 62010\n- text: With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  start_ms: 62010\n  end_ms: 64840\n- text: Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  start_ms: 64840\n  end_ms: 67700\n- text: (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n  start_ms: 67700\n  end_ms: 72640\n- text: Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  start_ms: 72640\n  end_ms: 75220\n- text: Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  start_ms: 75220\n  end_ms: 77370\n- text: Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  start_ms: 77370\n  end_ms: 79410\n- text: Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  start_ms: 79410\n  end_ms: 81730\n- text: Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  start_ms: 81730\n  end_ms: 84020\n- text: I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  start_ms: 84020\n  end_ms: 86430\n- text: More than you bargained for\n  start_ms: 86430\n  end_ms: 88510\n- text: Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  start_ms: 88510\n  end_ms: 90640\n- text: For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  start_ms: 90640\n  end_ms: 93480\n- text: Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  start_ms: 93480\n  end_ms: 96300\n- text: And end your existance, M-E-T\n  start_ms: 96300\n  end_ms: 98780\n- text: Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n  start_ms: 98780\n  end_ms: 101080\n- text: I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  start_ms: 101080\n  end_ms: 104150\n- text: The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  start_ms: 104150\n  end_ms: 106540\n- text: I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  start_ms: 106540\n  end_ms: 108590\n- text: Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  start_ms: 108590\n  end_ms: 111940\n- text: Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  start_ms: 111940\n  end_ms: 113810\n- text: Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  start_ms: 113810\n  end_ms: 117290\n- text: Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  start_ms: 117290\n  end_ms: 119850\n- text: Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  start_ms: 119850\n  end_ms: 122720\n- text: The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  start_ms: 122720\n  end_ms: 125020\n- text: And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  start_ms: 125020\n  end_ms: 127840\n- text: And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  start_ms: 127840\n  end_ms: 130580\n- text: Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  start_ms: 130580\n  end_ms: 132840\n- text: Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  start_ms: 132840\n  end_ms: 135490\n- text: Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  start_ms: 135490\n  end_ms: 138040\n- text: Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  start_ms: 138040\n  end_ms: 140950\n- text: How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n  start_ms: 140950\n  end_ms: 143790\n- text: Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  start_ms: 143790\n  end_ms: 145690\n- text: It's the funk doctor spock\n  start_ms: 145690\n  end_ms: 146960\n- text: Smokin buddha on a train\n  start_ms: 146960\n  end_ms: 148740\n- text: How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 148740\n  end_ms: 151010\n- text: How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 151010\n  end_ms: 154230\n- text: Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  start_ms: 154230\n  end_ms: 156260\n- text: Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  start_ms: 156260\n  end_ms: 159150\n- text: How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  start_ms: 159150\n  end_ms: 161750\n- text: How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n  start_ms: 161750\n  end_ms: 163800\n- text: Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  start_ms: 163800\n  end_ms: 166160\n- text: It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  start_ms: 166160\n  end_ms: 169000\n- text: Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  start_ms: 169000\n  end_ms: 171990\n- text: We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  start_ms: 171990\n  end_ms: 174560\n- text: Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  start_ms: 174560\n  end_ms: 176880\n- text: Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  start_ms: 176880\n  end_ms: 179470\n- text: Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  start_ms: 179470\n  end_ms: 183720\n- text: Plus I got no love for the beast\n  start_ms: 183720\n  end_ms: 185420\n- text: Hailin from the big East Coast\n  start_ms: 185420\n  end_ms: 187270\n- text: Where niggaz pack toast\n  start_ms: 187270\n  end_ms: 188860\n- text: Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  start_ms: 188860\n  end_ms: 190640\n- text: (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  start_ms: 190640\n  end_ms: 193260\n- text: You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  start_ms: 193260\n  end_ms: 195910\n- text: As I run around with a racist\n  start_ms: 195910\n  end_ms: 197960\n- text: My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  start_ms: 197960\n  end_ms: 200880\n- text: Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  start_ms: 200880\n  end_ms: 202660\n- text: He talk about it while I live it\n  start_ms: 202660\n  end_ms: 204450\n- text: If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n  start_ms: 204450\n  end_ms: 206830\n- text: Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  start_ms: 206830\n  end_ms: 209640\n- text: Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  start_ms: 209640\n  end_ms: 212000\n- text: Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  start_ms: 212000\n  end_ms: 214680\n- text: Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  start_ms: 214680\n  end_ms: 216740\n- text: I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  start_ms: 216740\n  end_ms: 218390\n- text: Who clicks the best\n  start_ms: 218390\n  end_ms: 219630\n- text: Punks take a sip and test\n  start_ms: 219630\n  end_ms: 220980\n- text: Who split your vest\n  start_ms: 220980\n  end_ms: 221910\n- text: The funk phenomenon\n  start_ms: 221910\n  end_ms: 223560\n- text: I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  start_ms: 223560\n  end_ms: 224650\n- text: Blow canals of Panama\n  start_ms: 224650\n  end_ms: 226160\n- text: Just off stamina\n  start_ms: 226160\n  end_ms: 227420\n- text: Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  start_ms: 227420\n  end_ms: 230050\n- text: Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  start_ms: 230050\n  end_ms: 233230\n- text: Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  start_ms: 233230\n  end_ms: 235220\n- text: Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  start_ms: 235220\n  end_ms: 238140\n- text: I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  start_ms: 238140\n  end_ms: 240200\n- text: Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  start_ms: 240200\n  end_ms: 243500\n- text: Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  start_ms: 243500\n  end_ms: 245410\n- text: To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  start_ms: 245410\n  end_ms: 248220\n- text: I fly more heads than Continental\n  start_ms: 248220\n  end_ms: 250330\n- text: Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  start_ms: 250330\n  end_ms: 253590\n- text: Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  start_ms: 253590\n  end_ms: 256190\n- text: But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  start_ms: 256190\n  end_ms: 258670\n- text: I breaks em up proppa\n  start_ms: 258670\n  end_ms: 260350\n- text: Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  start_ms: 260350\n  end_ms: 261810\n- text: Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  start_ms: 261810\n  end_ms: 264230\n- text: Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  start_ms: 264230\n  end_ms: 266040\n- text: To make your mind tickle\n  start_ms: 266040\n  end_ms: 267060\n- text: For the nine nickle\n  start_ms: 267060\n  end_ms: 268690\n- text: (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  start_ms: 268690\n  end_ms: 269790\n- text: Punk ass pussy ass\n  start_ms: 269790\n  end_ms: 272500\n- text: (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n  start_ms: 272500\n  end_ms: 280790\n- text: ''\n  start_ms: 280790\nplain: |-\n  Takin it from the top?\n  Tippy? Tippy?\n\n  How High?...\n  The Ultimate High...\n\n  'Scuse me as I kiss the sky\n  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful a rye\n  Who the fuck wanna die for their culture\n  Stalk the dead body like a vulture\n  Tical get, hmmm\n  Blacker than your blackest stallion\n  Hit your house'n projects\n  I represent the Shaolin my nigga\n  Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow\n  It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down\n\n  While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse\n  When I raise my trigga finga all yall niggaz hit the decks!\n  Cause aint no need for that, hustlers and hardcores\n  Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs\n  The Green-Eyed Bandit can't stand it\n  With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch\n  Plus, the Bombazee got me wild\n  (Fuckin with us) is a straight suicide\n\n  Three two Murder one lyric at your door\n  Tical bring it to that ass raw\n  Breakin all the rules like glass jaws\n  Nigga, you got to get mine to get yours\n  Fucka, we don't need no rap tour\n  I'd rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture\n  More than you bargained for\n  Tical, that stays open like an all nite store\n  For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel\n  Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill\n  And end your existance, M-E-T\n  Aint no use for resistance, H-O-D\n\n  I bees the ultimate rush to any nigga on dust\n  The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts\n  I shift like a clutch with the Ruck\n  Examine my nuts, I dont stop 'till I get enough\n  Your shit broke down, light your flare\n  Since the darkside tears you into hollywood squares\n  Six million ways to die, so I chose\n  Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed\n  The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap\n  And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass\n  And yo my man (Tical) hit me now\n  Bitches use to play me now they can't forget me now\n  Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock\n  Empty off a lickin off a hip hop\n  Fuck the billboard, I'm a bullet on my block\n  How you dope when you payed for your billboard spot?\n\n  Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane\n  It's the funk doctor spock\n  Smokin buddha on a train\n  How high? So high that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So sick that you can suck my dick\n  Look up in the sky it's a bird it's a plane\n  Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain't a damn thing changed\n  How high? So High that I can kiss the sky\n  How sick? So Sick that you can suck my dick\n\n  Til my man Raider Ruckus come home\n  It ain't really on 'till the Ruckus get, home\n  Puff a meth bone, now I'm off to the red zone\n  We don't need yo dirt, we, we got our fuckin own\n  Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic\n  Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic\n  Movin' on your left kid, and I'm methted, out my fuckin dome piece\n  Plus I got no love for the beast\n  Hailin from the big East Coast\n  Where niggaz pack toast\n  Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats\n  (Hey boy, you's the rude boy on the block\n  You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped)\n  As I run around with a racist\n  My style was born in the 50 stair cases\n  Dig it, eff a rap critic\n  He talk about it while I live it\n  If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it\n\n  Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and glocks in ya\n  Enter the centa, lyrics bang like rico-chet\n  Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic\n  Rollin' blunts an all day habit\n  I get it on like Smiff and Wess\n  Who clicks the best\n  Punks take a sip and test\n  Who split your vest\n  The funk phenomenon\n  I'm bombin you like Lebanon\n  Blow canals of Panama\n  Just off stamina\n  Styles not to be fucked with, or played with\n  Fuck the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches\n  Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with\n  Fat radical mathematical type scriptures\n  I dig up in your planets like Diga,\n  Boo, scared you, blew you to smithe-reens\n  Fuck the marines, I got machines\n  To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine\n  I fly more heads than Continental\n  Wreck ya five times like US AIR off an instrumental\n  Look I'm not a half way crook with bad looks\n  But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Brooks\n  I breaks em up proppa\n  Ask Biggie Smalls 'Who Shot Ya'\n  Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg\n  Look, I got the tools like Rickle\n  To make your mind tickle\n  For the nine nickle\n  (Yo Red, yo Red!)\n  Punk ass pussy ass\n  (You ain't gotta say no more man, that's it)\n"}]