[Intro: Kanye West]
I'm tryna catch the beat. [x4]
[Chorus: Kanye West]
Now throw your mothafuckin' hands,
Get ‘em high!
All the girls pass the weed to your mothafuckin' man,
Get ‘em high!
Now I ain't never tell you to put down your hands,
Get ‘em high!
And if you're losin' your high, then smoke again,
Keep ‘em high!
[Verse 1: Kanye West]
Now, my flow
Is in the pocket like wallets, I got the bounce like hydraulics,
I can't call it, I got the swerve like alcoholics.
My freshman year I was goin' through hella problems
Till I built up the nerve to drop my ass up outta college.
My teacher said I's a loser, I told her, ‘Why don't you kill me?
I give a fuck if you feel me, I'm gonna follow
My heart, and if you follow the charts
Or the plaques or the stacks,
You ain't gotta guess who's back.' You see,
I'm so shy that you thought I was bashful,
But this bastard's flow will bash your skull. And I will
Cut your girl like Pastor Troy. And I don't
Usually smoke but pass the ‘dro. And I won't
Give you that money that you askin' for.
Why you think me and Dame cool? We assholes.
That's why we hear your music in fast forward,
‘Cause we don't wanna hear that weak shit no mo'.
[Chorus]
[Verse 2: Kanye West]
Now who the hell is this
E-mailin' me at 11:26?
Telling me that she 36-26, plus double-D,
You know how girls on Black Planet be when they get bubbly.
At NYU but she hail from Kansas,
Right now she just lampin', chillin' on campus,
Sent me a picture with a feelin' on Candice,
Who said her favorite rapper was the late great Francis.
W-H-I-T-E, it's gettin' late, mami,
Your screen saver say Tweet, so you got to call me
And bring a friend for my friend, his name Kweli.
– You mean Talib? Lyrics sticks to your rib.
I mean,
– That's my favorite CD that I play at my crib.
I mean ,
– You don't really know him, why is you lyin'?
Yo, Kwel, she don't believe me, please pick up the line,
She gon' think that I'm lyin', just spit a couple of lines,
Then maybe I'll be able to give her dick all the time,
And get her high.
[Verse 3: Talib Kweli]
Yo, I can't believe this nigga use my name for pickin' up dimes,
But never mind, I need some tracks, you tryna pull tracks out,
And my rhymes is finna blow, you tryna blow backs out,
Well, okay, you twisted my arm, I'll assist with the charm.
Ayo, ain't you meet that chick at that conference with your moms?
And sister's the bomb,
Boy, she got the bougie behavior,
Always got something to say like a okay playa hater,
Anyway, I don't usually fuck with the Internet.
Or chicks with birth control stuck to they arm like Nicorette,
You really fuckin' that much or tryna get off cigarettes?
If she think it's fly, she ain't met a real nigga yet,
Now I apologize if I come off a little inconsiderate,
But I got the bubba kush, and a sista could get a hit of it.
[Verse 4: Common]
Get ‘em high like noon or the moon,
Or a room filled with smoke, a hype filled with dope.
Y'all assumed I was doomed, outta tune,
But I still filled the notes with real nigga quotes.
Real rappers is hard to find, like a remote
Control, rap is outta.
Used to, but still got love,
That's why I abuse you, who are not thugs.
Rock clubs, it's like Tiger,
Woods in the hood, to have my own reality show, called ‘Soul Survivor'.
I stole on liver, niggas than you,
You's a bitch, I got ones that are thicker than you.
How could I ever let your words affect me?
They say hip hop is dead, I'm here to resurrect me.
Marsha's too sexy to even make songs like these,
That's why the raw don't know your name, like Alicia Keys.
Too many featured emcees, and producers is popular,
Twelve thousand spins, nobody got to coppin' an
Album, how come, you the hot garbage of
The year's clear your image and snooped up.
Label got you souped up, tellin' you you sick,
When you a dick with a loose nut.
Video hard to watch like Medusa,
Even your club record need a booster.
Chimped up, with a pimp cup, illiterate nigga,
Read the infra-red across your head, I'm bred king like Simba,
Bolder than Denver, I ain't a mad rapper,
Just an emcee with a temper.
You dancin' for money like Honey, I did this my way,
So when the industry crash, I survive like Kanye,
Spittin' through wires and fires, emcees retirin',
Got your hands up, get them mothafuckas higher then.
[Chorus]
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