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作曲 : Kanye West & Lonnie Lynn & Talib Kweli Greene |
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作词 : KWELI, TALIB/LYNN, LONNIE RASHID/WEST, KANYE |
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I'm tryin to catch the beat, uh |
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I'm tryin to catch the beat |
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I'm tryin to catch the beat, uh uh, uh |
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I'm tryin to catch the beat |
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N-now, th-th-through ya mother****in hands |
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GET EM HIGH |
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All the girls pass the weed to ya mother****in man |
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GET EM HIGH |
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Now I ain't never tell you to put down ya hands |
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KEEP EM HIGH |
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And if ya losin yo high than smoke again |
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KEEP EM HIGH |
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N-n-n-now, my flow |
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Is in the pocket like Wallace, |
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I got the bounce like hydrolics |
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I can't call it, I got the swerve |
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like alchoooool-ics |
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My freshman year I was goin through hell, |
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a problem |
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Still I, built up the nerve to drop |
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my ass up outta collllllll-ege |
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My teacher said I'se a loser, |
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I told her why don't you kill me |
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I give a **** if you fail me, |
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I'm gonna folllllllllll-ow |
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My heart, and if you follow the charts, |
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to the plaques or the stacks |
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You ain't gotta guess who's back, you see |
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I'm so shy that you thought it was bashfull but this |
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bastard's flow will bash a skull |
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And I will, cut your girl like Pastor Tro |
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And I don't, usually smoke but pass the 'dro |
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And I won't, give you that money that you askin fo' |
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Why you think, me and Dame cool, we ass holes |
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That's why we here your music in fast fo' |
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Cuz we don't wanna here that weak shit no mo' |
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N-now, th-th-through ya mother****in hands |
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GET EM HIGH |
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All the girls pass the weed to ya mother****in man |
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GET EM HIGH |
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Now I ain't never tell you to put down ya hands |
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KEEP EM HIGH |
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And if ya losin yo high than smoke again |
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KEEP EM HIGH |
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N-n-n-n-n-now who the hell is this |
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E-mailin me at 1126, tellin me |
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that she 36-26, plus double-d |
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You know how girls on black planet |
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be when they get bubblee |
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At NYU but she headed from Kansas, |
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right now she just lampin, chillin on |
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campus |
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Sent me a picture with a feelin on Candice |
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Who said her favorite rapper |
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was the late great Francis |
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W-H-I-T, it's gettin late mami, |
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your screen saver say tweet |
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So you got to call me, |
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and bring a friend for my friend |
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His name Kweli |
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（You mean Talib, lyric sticks to your rib） |
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I mean |
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（That's my favorite CD that I play at my crib） |
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I mean |
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（You don't really know him, why is you lyin） |
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Yo Kwe, she don't believe me, |
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please pickup the line |
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She gon' think that I'm lyin, |
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just spit a couple of lines |
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Then maybe I'll be able to give |
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her dick all the time, and get her high |
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Yeah |
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I can't believe this nigga use |
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my name for pickin up dolls but |
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GET EM HIGH, I need some tracks |
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you tryin to pull tracks out |
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And my rhymes as fittin to blow |
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you tryin to blow back south |
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Well ok, you twisted my arm, |
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I'll asist with the charm, aiyyo |
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I though you meet that chickit |
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that got friends with yo moms |
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And she's the bomb, |
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boy she got the boujI behavior |
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Always got somethin to say |
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like a bookee playa hater |
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Anyway, I don't usualy **** a interneter |
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Draws stuck to they arm like Nicorette |
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You really ****in that much, |
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you tryin to get off cigarettes |
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And she think it's fly, she ain't met a real nigga yet |
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I appoligize if I come off a little inconsiderate |
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I got the bubble cushion |
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a sister could get ahead of it |
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Get em high like noon, or the moon or |
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room filled with smoke |
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A high filled with dope |
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Y'all assumed I was doomed, out of tune, |
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but I still feel the notes |
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The real nigga quotes |
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Real rappers is hard to find, like a remonte, |
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control rap is not a |
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Used soup it still got life, that's |
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why I abuse you who are not thugs |
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Rock clubs, it's like Tiger, Woods in the hood, |
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to have my own reality show |
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Called Soul Survivor, I stole all liver, niggaz in you |
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You'se a bitch I got ones that are thicker than you |
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How could I ever let your words affect me, |
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they say Hip-Hop is dead |
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I'm here to resurrect me, mosh is |
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to sexy to even make songs like these |
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That's why the raw don't know your name, |
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like Alicia Keys |
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To many featured emcees, |
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and pro-ducers is populer |
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Twelve thousand spins, |
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nobody got to coppin her |
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Album, how come, you the hot garbager |
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The years clear your image and snooped up |
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Label got you souped up, tellin you you sick |
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Man you a dick with a loose nut |
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Video hard to watch like Medusa |
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Even your club record need a booster |
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Chimped up, with a pimp cup, |
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illeaterate nigga |
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Read the infa, red across your head |
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I'm bread king like Simba |
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Bolder then Denver, I ain't a Madd Rapper |
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just a emcee with a temper |
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You dansin for money like honey, |
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I did this my way |
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So when the industry crash, |
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I survive like Kanye |
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Spittin through wires and fires, |
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emcees retirin |
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Got yo hands up, get them |
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mother****ers higher then |
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N-now, th-th-through ya mother****in hands |
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GET EM HIGH |
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All the girls pass the weed to ya mother****in man |
| [04:36.85] |
|
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GET EM HIGH |
| [04:38.53] |
|
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Now I ain't never tell you to put down ya hands |
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KEEP EM HIGH |
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|
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And if ya losin yo high than smoke again |
