Da Wiggy Lyrics
| Song | Da Wiggy |
| Artist | Heltah Skeltah |
| Album | Nocturnal |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Bush, Dewgarde, Price | |
| (Ruck) | |
| A nigga run shit like trackmeets, when black meets | |
| In the back streets, my gat greets | |
| Niggaz that don't recognize my rap sheet | |
| The facts be, the Ruck rains like the weather | |
| Cuz Rock makes cops throw glocks down like Heather | |
| B., niggaz better be ahead of me | |
| Trynna flow steadily, ain't even on my pedigree | |
| That's my word to Jazz, niggaz is herbs | |
| Cuz half of the time, half of they rhymes are absurd | |
| I serve, justice, must this, be the answer | |
| For my gun to click, terminal like cancer | |
| And the answer, Ruck and Rock for a thou' | |
| Now how the fuck did you come up with that style? | |
| Sing songs with six-packs, that's when I smoke seven | |
| Sacks of cess, make Ruck bust caps at the reverend | |
| So chill chicken, before I choose to castize you | |
| Battered and baptized, bitches and bums | |
| With blood from black eyes, when I slap guys | |
| (Rock) | |
| Send that guy to Rockness Monsta | |
| Stomp ya, split him in half, divide and conquer | |
| I want ya | |
| (Ruck) | |
| To test the irrational inflictor | |
| Rock pounds the ground, while Ruck shakes the Richter | |
| (Rock) | |
| It's the Rock slide, I'm crushin' ya block by suprise | |
| It be the Bummy Jab, and the fortune Fab 5 | |
| Bitch, ah, remarkable, like the Little Rascals | |
| If I'm being polite, I'm schemin' like Eddie Haskall | |
| Don't let me gat you, in half to, bring the wrath, too | |
| Don't ask fool, sure, I'll sell you a new ass crack blew | |
| And if you think a nigga's cocky, I dare any ten of you | |
| To come and try and stop me, rock me | |
| A champion soldier, "Folger", like coffee | |
| Tell a wife ya mouth was in yo bitch, back up off me | |
| Move on please, cuz sparks get ya done, might provoke | |
| The cops or, choke ya pops, if we smoke alot | |
| (Chorus x2: Heltah Skeltah) | |
| We don't give a what? Da wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, what? | |
| Da wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy - what? | |
| (Ruck) | |
| When I flow like the Nile river, that's when I deliver | |
| Nuff slugs to ya chest, makin' ya whole body shiver | |
| Niggaz wonder why the irrational God Ruck be slippin' | |
| Like I was buried in Rettin with nines that be wettin' | |
| Yo section, when niggaz step in my arena, bound to see ya | |
| Nigga like Ruck, Buckshot's, and catch misdemeanor's | |
| I'm similar to none son, that be my stee | |
| So flee from ya fuckin' face, double jeopardy | |
| (Rock) | |
| All praise me, Rock, I move in hip hop | |
| Fools'll get rocked, if I got the balls | |
| To stand when I'm lickin' shots, if not, I got the bright red dots | |
| Station, on top of the four-four, to blow ya fuckin' face in, Jason | |
| Ain't half as scary as the derriere | |
| Kicker, mister flipster, various to late | |
| I hit ya, if you don't think I make ya block ache | |
| The, next time I come through it'll be you Joe | |
| That I break a, snake a, pigskin in the wind | |
| Chant my Boot Camp name, and Rock must defend | |
| Burn the bitch ass with ten nails, in my military jail | |
| Make all that diesel shit you poppin' turn frail | |
| What, like I can, I pumps lead into yo body, punk | |
| Or a punk pellet, too, I got my pump shotty | |
| Why these cats always askin', for shit them not want | |
| The jokes you bump, is crippled for months, and don't front | |
| Fuckin' punk - | |
| (Chorus x2) |
| zuo qu : Bush, Dewgarde, Price | |
| Ruck | |
| A nigga run shit like trackmeets, when black meets | |
| In the back streets, my gat greets | |
| Niggaz that don' t recognize my rap sheet | |
| The facts be, the Ruck rains like the weather | |
| Cuz Rock makes cops throw glocks down like Heather | |
| B., niggaz better be ahead of me | |
| Trynna flow steadily, ain' t even on my pedigree | |
| That' s my word to Jazz, niggaz is herbs | |
| Cuz half of the time, half of they rhymes are absurd | |
| I serve, justice, must this, be the answer | |
| For my gun to click, terminal like cancer | |
| And the answer, Ruck and Rock for a thou' | |
| Now how the fuck did you come up with that style? | |
| Sing songs with sixpacks, that' s when I smoke seven | |
| Sacks of cess, make Ruck bust caps at the reverend | |
| So chill chicken, before I choose to castize you | |
| Battered and baptized, bitches and bums | |
| With blood from black eyes, when I slap guys | |
| Rock | |
| Send that guy to Rockness Monsta | |
| Stomp ya, split him in half, divide and conquer | |
| I want ya | |
| Ruck | |
| To test the irrational inflictor | |
| Rock pounds the ground, while Ruck shakes the Richter | |
| Rock | |
| It' s the Rock slide, I' m crushin' ya block by suprise | |
| It be the Bummy Jab, and the fortune Fab 5 | |
| Bitch, ah, remarkable, like the Little Rascals | |
| If I' m being polite, I' m schemin' like Eddie Haskall | |
| Don' t let me gat you, in half to, bring the wrath, too | |
| Don' t ask fool, sure, I' ll sell you a new ass crack blew | |
| And if you think a nigga' s cocky, I dare any ten of you | |
| To come and try and stop me, rock me | |
| A champion soldier, " Folger", like coffee | |
| Tell a wife ya mouth was in yo bitch, back up off me | |
| Move on please, cuz sparks get ya done, might provoke | |
| The cops or, choke ya pops, if we smoke alot | |
| Chorus x2: Heltah Skeltah | |
| We don' t give a what? Da wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, what? | |
| Da wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy what? | |
| Ruck | |
| When I flow like the Nile river, that' s when I deliver | |
| Nuff slugs to ya chest, makin' ya whole body shiver | |
| Niggaz wonder why the irrational God Ruck be slippin' | |
| Like I was buried in Rettin with nines that be wettin' | |
| Yo section, when niggaz step in my arena, bound to see ya | |
| Nigga like Ruck, Buckshot' s, and catch misdemeanor' s | |
| I' m similar to none son, that be my stee | |
| So flee from ya fuckin' face, double jeopardy | |
| Rock | |
| All praise me, Rock, I move in hip hop | |
| Fools' ll get rocked, if I got the balls | |
| To stand when I' m lickin' shots, if not, I got the bright red dots | |
| Station, on top of the fourfour, to blow ya fuckin' face in, Jason | |
| Ain' t half as scary as the derriere | |
| Kicker, mister flipster, various to late | |
| I hit ya, if you don' t think I make ya block ache | |
| The, next time I come through it' ll be you Joe | |
| That I break a, snake a, pigskin in the wind | |
| Chant my Boot Camp name, and Rock must defend | |
| Burn the bitch ass with ten nails, in my military jail | |
| Make all that diesel shit you poppin' turn frail | |
| What, like I can, I pumps lead into yo body, punk | |
| Or a punk pellet, too, I got my pump shotty | |
| Why these cats always askin', for shit them not want | |
| The jokes you bump, is crippled for months, and don' t front | |
| Fuckin' punk | |
| Chorus x2 |
| zuò qǔ : Bush, Dewgarde, Price | |
| Ruck | |
| A nigga run shit like trackmeets, when black meets | |
| In the back streets, my gat greets | |
| Niggaz that don' t recognize my rap sheet | |
| The facts be, the Ruck rains like the weather | |
| Cuz Rock makes cops throw glocks down like Heather | |
| B., niggaz better be ahead of me | |
| Trynna flow steadily, ain' t even on my pedigree | |
| That' s my word to Jazz, niggaz is herbs | |
| Cuz half of the time, half of they rhymes are absurd | |
| I serve, justice, must this, be the answer | |
| For my gun to click, terminal like cancer | |
| And the answer, Ruck and Rock for a thou' | |
| Now how the fuck did you come up with that style? | |
| Sing songs with sixpacks, that' s when I smoke seven | |
| Sacks of cess, make Ruck bust caps at the reverend | |
| So chill chicken, before I choose to castize you | |
| Battered and baptized, bitches and bums | |
| With blood from black eyes, when I slap guys | |
| Rock | |
| Send that guy to Rockness Monsta | |
| Stomp ya, split him in half, divide and conquer | |
| I want ya | |
| Ruck | |
| To test the irrational inflictor | |
| Rock pounds the ground, while Ruck shakes the Richter | |
| Rock | |
| It' s the Rock slide, I' m crushin' ya block by suprise | |
| It be the Bummy Jab, and the fortune Fab 5 | |
| Bitch, ah, remarkable, like the Little Rascals | |
| If I' m being polite, I' m schemin' like Eddie Haskall | |
| Don' t let me gat you, in half to, bring the wrath, too | |
| Don' t ask fool, sure, I' ll sell you a new ass crack blew | |
| And if you think a nigga' s cocky, I dare any ten of you | |
| To come and try and stop me, rock me | |
| A champion soldier, " Folger", like coffee | |
| Tell a wife ya mouth was in yo bitch, back up off me | |
| Move on please, cuz sparks get ya done, might provoke | |
| The cops or, choke ya pops, if we smoke alot | |
| Chorus x2: Heltah Skeltah | |
| We don' t give a what? Da wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, what? | |
| Da wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy, wiggy what? | |
| Ruck | |
| When I flow like the Nile river, that' s when I deliver | |
| Nuff slugs to ya chest, makin' ya whole body shiver | |
| Niggaz wonder why the irrational God Ruck be slippin' | |
| Like I was buried in Rettin with nines that be wettin' | |
| Yo section, when niggaz step in my arena, bound to see ya | |
| Nigga like Ruck, Buckshot' s, and catch misdemeanor' s | |
| I' m similar to none son, that be my stee | |
| So flee from ya fuckin' face, double jeopardy | |
| Rock | |
| All praise me, Rock, I move in hip hop | |
| Fools' ll get rocked, if I got the balls | |
| To stand when I' m lickin' shots, if not, I got the bright red dots | |
| Station, on top of the fourfour, to blow ya fuckin' face in, Jason | |
| Ain' t half as scary as the derriere | |
| Kicker, mister flipster, various to late | |
| I hit ya, if you don' t think I make ya block ache | |
| The, next time I come through it' ll be you Joe | |
| That I break a, snake a, pigskin in the wind | |
| Chant my Boot Camp name, and Rock must defend | |
| Burn the bitch ass with ten nails, in my military jail | |
| Make all that diesel shit you poppin' turn frail | |
| What, like I can, I pumps lead into yo body, punk | |
| Or a punk pellet, too, I got my pump shotty | |
| Why these cats always askin', for shit them not want | |
| The jokes you bump, is crippled for months, and don' t front | |
| Fuckin' punk | |
| Chorus x2 |
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