"Get Em High" as written by Lonnie Rashid Lynn, Kanye Omari West and Talib Kweli Greene....
[Kanye West]
I'm trying to catch the beat, uh
I'm trying to catch the beat
I'm trying to catch the beat, uh uh, uh
I'm trying to catch the beat

[Hook: 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
Get 'em high
And if you're losin' your high then smoke again
Keep 'em high

[Verse 1: Kanye West]
N-n-n-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 going through hella problems
'Til I, built up the nerve to drop my ass up out of college
My teacher said I'se 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 Tro'
And I don't, usually smoke
But pass the 'dro
And I won't, give you that money that you asking for
Why you think me and Dame cool? We assholes
That's why we hear your music in fast forward
'Cuz we don't wanna hear that weak shit no mo'


[Verse 2: Kanye West + (girl)]
N-n-n-n-n-now who the hell is this
E-mailing 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 lamping, chilling 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 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 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 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 picking 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?
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 trying to 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
I got the bubba kush and a sister 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, 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, 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 pro-ducers is popular
Twelve thousand spins, nobody got to coppin' a
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 Madd Rapper
Just an emcee with a temper
You dancing 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 motherfuckers higher then


Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings, edited by Mellow_Harsher

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