Lyrics: Uh-uh, I'm tryna catch the beat Uh, I'm tryna catch the beat I'm tryna catch the beat, uh-uh, uh-uh I'm tryna catch the beat N-now, th-th-throw yo' motherfuckin' hands Get 'em high All the girls pass the weed to yo' motherfuckin' man Get 'em high Now, I ain't never tell you to put down your hands Keep 'em high And if ya losin' yo' high then smoke again Keep 'em high Now, now, now, now, my flow is in the pocket like Wallace 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 'Til 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 fail me, I'm gonna follow My heart, and if you follow the charts to the plaques or the stacks" You ain't gotta guess who's back, you see? I'm so shy that you thought it was bashful But this bastard's flow will bash a skull And I will cut your girl like Pastor Tro And I don't usually smoke but pass the dro And I won't give you that money that you askin' fo' Why you think me and dame cool? We assholes That's why we here your music in fast fo' 'Cause we don't wanna here that weak shit no mo' N-now, th-th-throw yo' motherfuckin' hands Get 'em high All the girls pass the weed to yo' motherfuckin' man Get 'em high Now, I ain't never tell you to put down your hands Keep 'em high And if ya losin' yo' high then smoke again Keep 'em high Now, now, now, now, now, you've got mail Who the hell is this? E-mailin' me at 11:26, tellin' me That she 36-26, plus double-d You know how girls on Black Planet be When they get bubblee At NYU but she hailed from Kansas Right now she just lampin', chillin' on campus Sent me a picture with her feelin' on Candice Who said her favorite rapper was the late great Francis W-H-I-T, 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, lyric 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 Kwe, she 'on't believe me, please pickup 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 Yeah (ow!) I can't believe this nigga used my name for pickin' up dimes But never mind I need some tracks you tryin' to pull tracks out And my rhymes as fittin' to blow you, tryin' to 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 wit' yo' moms? And she's the bomb, boy, she got the bougie behavior Always got somethin' to say like a okay-player hater Anyway, I don't usually fuck with the interneter Chicks with birth control stuck to they arm like Nicolette You really fuckin' that much, you tryin' to get off cigarettes If she think it's fly, she ain't met a real nigga yet (no) I apologize if I come off a little inconsiderate I got the bubble cushion, a sister could get a hit of (yeah, yeah) Get 'em high like noon or the moon Or room filled with smoke, a high filled with dope Y'all assumed I was doomed out of tune But I still feel the notes the real nigga quotes Real rappers is hard to find like a remote control, rap is not a Used soup it still got life, that's why I abuse you who are not thugs Rock clubs like Tiger Woods In the hood to have my own reality show Called Soul Survivor, I stole all liver, niggas in you You's a bitch, I got ones that are thicker than you How could I ever let yo' words affect me? They say hip-hop is dead, I'm here to resurrect me Mosh is too sexy to even make songs like these That's why the raw don't know your name, like Alicia Keys Too many featured MCs and producers is popular 12 thousand spins, nobody got to coppin' her Album, how come, you the hot garbager The years clear your image and snooped up Label got you souped up, tellin' you, you sick Man 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 infa, red across yo' head I'm bread king like Simba Bolder than Denver I ain't a mad rapper Just a MC with a temper You dancin' for money like honey, I did this my way So when the industry crash, I survived like Kanye Spittin' through wires and fires, MCs retirin' Got yo' hands up, get them motherfuckers higher, then N-now, th-th-throw yo' motherfuckin' hands Get 'em high (yeah) All the girls pass the weed to yo' motherfuckin' man Get 'em high (uh-uh, uh-uh, uh-uh) Now, I ain't never tell you to put down your hands Keep 'em high (keep 'em high, keep 'em high, uh-uh) And if ya losin' yo' high then smoke again Keep 'em high
How so ACCURATE
It’s the official instrumental
YES YES YES 🔥🔥🔥
Lyrics:
Uh-uh, I'm tryna catch the beat
Uh, I'm tryna catch the beat
I'm tryna catch the beat, uh-uh, uh-uh
I'm tryna catch the beat
N-now, th-th-throw yo' motherfuckin' hands
Get 'em high
All the girls pass the weed to yo' motherfuckin' man
Get 'em high
Now, I ain't never tell you to put down your hands
Keep 'em high
And if ya losin' yo' high then smoke again
Keep 'em high
Now, now, now, now, my flow is in the pocket like Wallace
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
'Til 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 fail me, I'm gonna follow
My heart, and if you follow the charts to the plaques or the stacks"
You ain't gotta guess who's back, you see?
I'm so shy that you thought it was bashful
But this bastard's flow will bash a skull
And I will cut your girl like Pastor Tro
And I don't usually smoke but pass the dro
And I won't give you that money that you askin' fo'
Why you think me and dame cool? We assholes
That's why we here your music in fast fo'
'Cause we don't wanna here that weak shit no mo'
N-now, th-th-throw yo' motherfuckin' hands
Get 'em high
All the girls pass the weed to yo' motherfuckin' man
Get 'em high
Now, I ain't never tell you to put down your hands
Keep 'em high
And if ya losin' yo' high then smoke again
Keep 'em high
Now, now, now, now, now, you've got mail
Who the hell is this?
E-mailin' me at 11:26, tellin' me
That she 36-26, plus double-d
You know how girls on Black Planet be
When they get bubblee
At NYU but she hailed from Kansas
Right now she just lampin', chillin' on campus
Sent me a picture with her feelin' on Candice
Who said her favorite rapper was the late great Francis
W-H-I-T, 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, lyric 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 Kwe, she 'on't believe me, please pickup 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
Yeah (ow!)
I can't believe this nigga used my name for pickin' up dimes
But never mind I need some tracks you tryin' to pull tracks out
And my rhymes as fittin' to blow you, tryin' to 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 wit' yo' moms?
And she's the bomb, boy, she got the bougie behavior
Always got somethin' to say like a okay-player hater
Anyway, I don't usually fuck with the interneter
Chicks with birth control stuck to they arm like Nicolette
You really fuckin' that much, you tryin' to get off cigarettes
If she think it's fly, she ain't met a real nigga yet (no)
I apologize if I come off a little inconsiderate
I got the bubble cushion, a sister could get a hit of (yeah, yeah)
Get 'em high like noon or the moon
Or room filled with smoke, a high filled with dope
Y'all assumed I was doomed out of tune
But I still feel the notes the real nigga quotes
Real rappers is hard to find like a remote control, rap is not a
Used soup it still got life, that's why I abuse you who are not thugs
Rock clubs like Tiger Woods
In the hood to have my own reality show
Called Soul Survivor, I stole all liver, niggas in you
You's a bitch, I got ones that are thicker than you
How could I ever let yo' words affect me?
They say hip-hop is dead, I'm here to resurrect me
Mosh is too sexy to even make songs like these
That's why the raw don't know your name, like Alicia Keys
Too many featured MCs and producers is popular
12 thousand spins, nobody got to coppin' her
Album, how come, you the hot garbager
The years clear your image and snooped up
Label got you souped up, tellin' you, you sick
Man 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 infa, red across yo' head I'm bread king like Simba
Bolder than Denver I ain't a mad rapper
Just a MC with a temper
You dancin' for money like honey, I did this my way
So when the industry crash, I survived like Kanye
Spittin' through wires and fires, MCs retirin'
Got yo' hands up, get them motherfuckers higher, then
N-now, th-th-throw yo' motherfuckin' hands
Get 'em high (yeah)
All the girls pass the weed to yo' motherfuckin' man
Get 'em high (uh-uh, uh-uh, uh-uh)
Now, I ain't never tell you to put down your hands
Keep 'em high (keep 'em high, keep 'em high, uh-uh)
And if ya losin' yo' high then smoke again
Keep 'em high
kanYe west in his prime
Crazy how this beat only has like 4 sounds I think