Get Em High song by Kanye West from Primary Album Album not found. The music is composed and produced by Joel. Genre is Boom Bap, Hip-Hop, East Coast music. The Record company is unknown. Released on None.
The video came from: Youtube
Get Em High Meaning
| [[Intro: Kanye West] 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 [Chorus: Kanye West] N-now, th-th-throw your motherfuckin’ hands Get ’em high All the girls pass the weed to your motherfuckin’ man Get ’em high Now I ain’t never tell you to put down your hands Keep ’em high And if you’re losin’ your high, then smoke again Keep ’em high (Now, now, now, now) [Verse 1: Kanye West] 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 going through hella problems ‘Til I built up the nerve to drop my ass up out of 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 Or the plaques or the stacks, you ain’t gotta guess who’s back, you see? I’m so Chi that you thought I was bashful But this bastard’s flow will bash your 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’ for Why you think me and Dame cool? We assholes That’s why we hear your music and fast forward ‘Cause we don’t wanna hear that weak shit no mo’ , [Chorus: Kanye West] N-now, th-th-throw your motherfuckin’ hands Get ’em high All the girls pass the weed to your motherfuckin’ man Get ’em high Now I ain’t never tell you to put down your hands Keep ’em high And if you’re losin’ your high, then smoke again Keep ’em high (Now, now, now, now, now, You’ve got mail) [Verse 2: Kanye West, Sumeke Rainey & Talib Kweli] Now who the hell is this Emailing me at 11:26 Telling me that she thirty-six, twenty-six 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 her feelin’ on Candice Who said her favorite rapper was the late great Francis W-H-I-T, it’s getting 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 stick 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 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 (Yeah), ow , [Verse 3: Talib Kweli & Common] I can’t believe this nigga use my name for pickin’ up dimes But never mind, I need some tracks, you tryin’ to pull tracks out And my rhymes is finna blow, you trying 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 with your moms? Her sister the bomb, but she got the bougie behavior Always got something to say like a OkayPlayer-hater Anyways, 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? (Keep ’em high) 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 Bubba Kush and her sister could get a hit of it, yeah (Yo, yo) [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, out of tune But I still filled the notes with real nigga quotes Real rappers is hard to find like a remote Control, rap is out of Used to, but still got love That’s why I abuse you who are not thugs Rock clubs like Tiger Woods in the hood Should have my own reality show called “Soul Survivor” I stole on live-er 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 MCs, and producers is popular Twelve thousand spins, nobody got to coppin’ a Album, how come you the hot garbage of The year? It’s clear your image is looped 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 a MC 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, MCs retirin’ Got your hands up, get them motherfuckers higher, then , [Chorus: Kanye West & Common] N-now, th-th-throw your motherfuckin’ hands Get ’em high (Yeah) All the girls pass the weed to your motherfuckin’ man Get ’em high (Mm-mm, 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 you’re losin’ your high, then smoke again Keep ’em high] |
