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actor, Athens, Beavis and Butthead, Biggie Smalls, Blackout!, Blue Lines, Blue Lines Blog, Clifford Smith, Def Jam, Def Jam Recordings, Def Squad, Earwax Records, EPMD, Erick Sermon, Fly, Fly Robin, Funk Doctor Spock, Georgia, Hip-Hop, Hip-Hop Quotable, Hip-Hop Quotable Wednesdays, Hot Nikkels, How High, Iron Lung, John J, Johnny Blaze, Key Yemaya Walker, Meth, Method Man, Method Man & Redman, Methtical, Month Of The Man, Murder Was The Case, music, MZA, New Jersey, New York, New York City, Newark, Rapper, Redman, Reggie Noble, Reginald "Reggie" Noble, Reginald Noble, Shakwon, Shaolin, Staten Island, The Show, Tical, U.S., UB, UGA, United States, University Of Bridgeport, University Of Georgia, Who Shot Ya, Wu-Tang Clan
Whoa, had a flashback as we rode back from Athens last week, and this took the place of the scheduled Hip-Hop Quotable for this week after an all out performance with Ike on 316. We weren’t listening to the “Fly Robin, Fly,” version.
Intro:
Takin it from the top?
Tippy? Tippy?
How High?….
The Ultimate High….
Verse One: Method Man
Scuse me as I kiss the sky
Sing a song of six pence, a pocket full a rye
Who the f–k wanna die for their culture
Stalk the dead body like a vulture
Tical get, HMMM
Blacker than your blackest stallion
Hit your house’n projects
I represent the Shaolin my n—a
Hell yes, Apocalypse now, the gun blow
It be goin down, diggy diggy down diggy down down
Verse Two: Redman
While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse
When I raise my trigga finga all yall n—az hit the decks!
Cause ain’t no need for that, hustlers and hardcores
Raw to the floor raw like Reservoir Dogs
The Green-Eyed Bandit can’t stand it
With more Fruitier Loops then that Toucan Sam Bitch
Plus, the Bombazee got me wild
(F–kin with us) is a straight suicide
Verse Three: Method Man
10 9 8 7 6 5 4
3 2 Murder 1 lyric at your door
Tical bring it to that ass raw
Breaking all the rules like glass jaws
N—a, you got to get mine to get yours
F–ka, we don’t need no rap tour
I’d rather kick the facts and catch you with the rap-ture
More than you bargained for
Tical, that stays open like an all night store
For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel
Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill
And end your existence, M-E-T
Ain’t no use for resistance, H-O-D
Verse Four: Redman
I bees the ultimate rush to any n—a on dust
The Egyptian Musk use to have me pull mad sluts
I shift like a clutch with the Ruck
Examine my nuts, I don’t stop till I get enough
Your shit broke down, light your flare
Since the dark side tears you into Hollywood squares
6 million ways to die, so I chose
Made it 6 million and 1 with your eyes closed
The blindfold, cold, so you can feel the rap
And shatter the glass and second half on your monkey ass
And yo my man (Tical) hit me now
Bitches use to play me now they cant forget me now
Forget me not, I rock the spot, check glock
Empty off a lickin off a hip hop
F–k the billboard, I’m a bullet on my block
How you dope when you paid for your billboard spot?
Chorus:
Look up in the sky, it’s a bird, it’s a plane
It’s the Funk Doctor Spock smokin buddha on a train
HOW HIGH? So high that I can kiss the sky
HOW SICK? So sick that you can suck my d–k
Look up in the sky it’s a bird it’s a plane
Recognize, Johnny Blaze, ain’t a damn thing changed
HOW HIGH? So High that I can kiss the sky
HOW SICK? So Sick that you can suck my d–k
Verse Five: Method Man
Til my man Raider Ruckus come home
It ain’t really on till the Ruckus get, home
Puff a meth bone, now I’m off to the red zone
we don’t need your dirt weed we got a f–kin O
Check it, I brings havoc with my hectic
Bring the Pain lyrics screamin for the antiseptic
Movin on your left kid, and I’m method, out my f–kin dome piece
Plus I got no love for the beast
Hailin from the big East Coast
Where n—az pack toast
Home of the drug kingpins and cut throats
[Hey boy, you’s the rude boy on the block
You try and stop the bum rush you will get popped]
As I run around with a racist
My style was born in the 50 stair cases
Dig it, eff a rap critic
He talk about it while I live it
If Red got the blunt, Im the second one to hit it
Verse Six: Redman
Look up in the, I got the verbs, nouns and Glocks in ya
Enter the center, lyrics bang like ricochet
Rabbit, I brings havoc with an A-K matic
Rollin blunts an all day habit
I get it on like Smif’n’Wes
Punks take a sip and test
Who split your vest
The funk phenomenon
I’m bombin you like Lebanon
Blow canals of Panama
Just off stamina
Styles not to be f–ked with, or played with
F–k the pretty hoes, I love those Section A Bit-ches
Hittin switches, Twistin wigs with
Fat radical mathematical type scriptures
I dig up in your planets like Digda,
Boo, scared you, blew you to smithereens
F–k the marines, I got machines
To light the spliff, and read Mad magazine
I fly more heads than Continental
Wreck ya 5 times like US AIR off an instrumental
Look I’m not a half way crook with bad looks
But I may murder your case like your name was Cal Broadus
I breaks em up proppa
Ask Biggie Smalls ‘Who Shot Ya’
Funk doctor, with the 12 Gauge Mossberg
Look, I got the tools like Rickle
To make your mind tickle
For the nine nickel
[Yo Red, yo Red!]
Punk ass p—y ass
[You ain’t gotta say no more man, that’s it]
Word up Tical, We Out
[IT’S OVER]
The manuscript Blue Lines is the fictional coming of age narrative of a young California woman Key Yemaya Walker, and her 2 year growing journey through school, love, and life period piece, written by Kenneth Suffern, Jr., taking place at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill between the years of 1997 – 1998. Loosely based on true events, and experiences during that time, told through the eyes and voice of the main female protagonist, a freshman first attending the school.
Blue Lines Blog 