[Intro: Kanye West]
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Uh-uh, Im tryna catch the beat
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Uh, Im tryna catch the beat
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Im tryna catch the beat, uh-uh, uh-uh
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Im tryna catch the beat
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[Chorus: Kanye West]
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N-now, th-th-throw your motherfuckin hands
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Get em high
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All the girls pass the weed to your motherfuckin man
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Get em high
~#**************#~
Now I aint never tell you to put down your hands
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Keep em high
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And if youre losin your high, then smoke again
~#**************#~
Keep em high (Now, now, now, now)
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[Verse 1: Kanye West]
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My flow is in the pocket like wallets, I got the bounce like hydraulics
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I cant call it, I got the swerve like alcoholics
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My freshman year, I was going through hella problems
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‘Til I built up the nerve to drop my ass up out of college
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My teacher said Is a loser, I told her, “Why dont you kill me?
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I give a fuck if you fail me, Im gonna follow
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My heart”, and if you follow the charts
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Or the plaques or the stacks, you aint gotta guess whos back, you see?
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Im so Chi that you thought I was bashful
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But this bastards flow will bash your skull
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And I will cut your girl like Pastor Tro
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And I dont usually smoke, but pass the ‘dro
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And I wont give you that money that you askin for
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Why you think me and Dame cool? We assholes
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Thats why we hear your music and fast forward
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‘Cause we dont wanna hear that weak shit no mo
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[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 aint never tell you to put down your hands
~#**************#~
Keep em high
~#**************#~
And if youre losin your high, then smoke again
~#**************#~
Keep em high (Now, now, now, now, now, Youve got mail)
~#**************#~
[Verse 2: Kanye West, Sumeke Rainey & Talib Kweli]
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Now who the hell is this
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Emailing me at 11:26
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Telling me that she thirty-six, twenty-six plus double-d?
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You know how girls on Black Planet be when they get bubbly
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At NYU but she hail from Kansas
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Right now, she just lampin, chillin on campus
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Sent me a picture with her feelin on Candice
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Who said her favorite rapper was the late great Francis
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W-H-I-T, its getting late, mami
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Your screen saver say Tweet, so you got to call me
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And bring a friend for my friend, his name Kweli
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You mean Talib? Lyrics stick to your rib (I mean)
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Thats my favorite CD that I play at my crib (I mean)
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You dont really know him, why is you lyin?
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Yo, Kwe, she dont believe me, please pick up the line
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She gon think that Im lyin, just spit a couple of lines
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Then maybe Ill be able to give her dick all the time
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And get her high (Yeah), ow
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[Verse 3: Talib Kweli & Common]
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I cant believe this nigga use my name for pickin up dimes
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But never mind, I need some tracks, you tryin to pull tracks out
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And my rhymes is finna blow, you trying to blow backs out
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Well, okay, you twisted my arm, Ill assist with the charm
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Ayo, aint you meet that chick at that conference with your moms?
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Her sister the bomb, but she got the bougie behavior
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Always got something to say like a OkayPlayer-hater
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Anyways, I dont usually fuck with the Internet
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Or chicks with birth control stuck to they arm like Nicorette
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You really fuckin that much or tryna get off cigarettes? (Keep em high)
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If she think its fly, she aint met a real nigga yet (No)
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I apologize if I come off a little inconsiderate
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I got the Bubba Kush and her sister could get a hit of it, yeah (Yo, yo)
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[Verse 4: Common]
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Get em high like noon or the moon
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Or a room filled with smoke, a hype filled with dope
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Yall assumed I was doomed, out of tune
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But I still filled the notes with real nigga quotes
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Real rappers is hard to find like a remote
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Control, rap is out of
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Used to, but still got love
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Thats why I abuse you who are not thugs
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Rock clubs like Tiger Woods in the hood
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Should have my own reality show called “Soul Survivor”
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I stole on live-er niggas than you
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Yous 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, Im here to resurrect me
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Marks is too sexy to even make songs like these
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Thats why the raw dont know your name, like Alicia Keys
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Too many featured MCs, and producers is popular
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Twelve thousand spins, nobody got to coppin a
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Album, how come you the hot garbage of
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The year? Its clear your image is looped up
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Label got you souped up, tellin you you sick
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When 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, chimped up
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With a pimp cup, illiterate nigga, read the infra-
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Red across your head, Im bred king like Simba
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Bolder than Denver, I aint a mad rapper
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Just a MC with a temper
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You dancin for money like Honey, I did this my way
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So when the industry crash, I survive like Kanye
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Spittin through wires and fires, MCs retirin
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Got your hands up, get them motherfuckers higher, then
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[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 aint never tell you to put down your hands
~#**************#~
Keep em high (Keep em high, keep em high, uh-uh)
~#**************#~
And if youre losin your high, then smoke again
~#**************#~
Keep em high
