Higher Songtext
von Twista featuring Ludacris

Yeah, you know it′s about to go down right?
(Yeeah!) Got to let them know who is this? (Ludacris!)
And who else nigga? (Twista, wooo, ahhh!)
Uh, uh (check it out)

Sometimes I think that I got to see a little bit of brighter days
'Cause I could find myself to a city near you in a solid cage
And you could look to the left or the right, but I′m trapped on center stage
And I could rap to the beat, but I don't know how to change my ways
I still hear a fool and I track them, distract them, and whack them
Jack a nigga for the day to days and I yak them, attack them, and sack them
Get a weapon and I crack his brain 'cause I′m a hustler, baller, pro
And it wouldn′t be right for me to be around busters, and crawlers, and hoes
But I'm a pimp at night, so talk shit and I′m a lift them up off of they toes


With a street sweeper regulating quarters, and ki's, and o′s
In a two-seater, Ludacris and Twista with bags of dro
Smoking, choking, get them open, croaking
It's so potent, I′m hoping to keep on floating
Soaking wet and you can bet, people, I'm high
I'm seeing lions, and tigers and bears, oh my!
And I can′t hide it or keep it hidden, good riddance I′m felling good
I'm weapon-concealing, stealing my neighborhood
Would, could, and should break a nigga off
They′ll see you later, go to the doctor, hold my balls and—
You caught the vapors and I caught the throne, brain blown, honey I'm home
Give me the microphone, and fools is like, "Leave me alone!"

Throw it up if you get high, get blow, get drunk
If you want what I′m on, come on and kick it
Let's ride, smoke dro, beat the trunk
All the badass bitches that want to party
Just shake it, great players get pumped
Me and my thugs, and hustlers in the party
Get money fuck hoes, get crunk

(Look out!) I put a little bit of hash on some motherfucking purple haze
I feel it all in my body, adrenaline with the Bacaradi
Got me all filthy, ripping shit in a rage
In navy-blue platinum, he by the Belly, Gucci
Timberland stepping on the petal up in the Cadillac truck
Want to get me for the wood
Better get the whole motherfucking hood to come and give you some back up
We can get into it and if you want to do it
I′m leaking the fluids out of the bodies that want to come at this
Empty out buckets of blood for fucking with thugs that'll bury


My adversaries better not want none of Twis'
Represent for my city, anybody that different with me
Got to get him for thinking it′s a game
And whether you from my city or not, talk shit
I′ma kill him, especially if he say my name
I've been up on him, I handle my business
And I′m a stick him up for the scrilla, from K-Tilla, smoking on a fat piller
Murder haters that don't feela
Niggas claiming they want to bring it, but really don′t be killers
Balling out so hard the size of my rims grow to a hellafied sight-scene
When the dough become no bigger, I'ma flip or drop that 2000 and... your 19

Throw it up if you get high, get blow, get drunk
If you want what I′m on, come on and kick it
Let's ride, smoke dro, beat the trunk
All the badass bitches that want to party
Just shake it, great players get pumped
Me and my thugs, and hustlers in the party
Get money fuck hoes, get crunk

When balling out of control, I floss on, flame on, pimp on
A speed deamon, pedal to the metal when I'm in the zone
Hang on ′cause here I′m gone
In the motherfucking wind when I'm sipping on Henney
I got cake, while you owe something
And I done came a long way from letting me hold something, to roll something
Find a victim and fill him with venom
And put some adrenaline in him, kill him, and send him to the cemetery
With a flow full of horror like a poltergeist
He called to Christ, when he saw how many men I buried
Shit, and when it come to chiefing good

Nigga who that? Do that, I got the sack open
And the herb got the flow so strong
That I might crack the track, go back to back smoking
Never coming up when the Mob′s in need
Nigga you ain't untouchable when I spark the heat
Coming at you like sharks to meat
′Til blood start to leak, I can tell when a mark's heart is weak
Come fully loaded ′cause I'm hard to beat
Always screaming where the drink and the dro at?
You know we love that cut up
In the back of the club with purple in the bag, chronic
Twis' and Ludacris get fucked up

Throw it up if you get high, get blow, get drunk
If you want what I′m on, come on and kick it
Let′s ride, smoke dro, beat the trunk
All the badass bitches that want to party
Just shake it, great players get pumped
Me and my thugs, and hustlers in the party
Get money fuck hoes, get crunk

Pass me the—
Let me smoke my—
Yeah, this a Wildstyle production
Twista and Ludacris collabo, get it, get it
Get it, uh, yeah