The Who Lyrics
| Song | The Who |
| Artist | Hieroglyphics |
| Album | 3rd Eye Vision |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Jones, Lindsey, Lindsey ... | |
| As long as you don't put too much on it | |
| [Verse 1] | |
| Tonight we got the mic on cruise | |
| With more luck than horseshoes | |
| While we fuse together like ?? | |
| 'Cause we move with ten ton thrusters | |
| The cosmopolitan cosmonaut up in your knot again like aneurysms | |
| Expand with wisdom | |
| Musical mannerisms are parallel to cannibalism | |
| And animal instinct that's in sync | |
| Distinct, leavin' suckas extinct when we combine | |
| The gravity hella fine, physics of mind | |
| Inebriating, leave you gaping open | |
| Nothing's safe in Oakland | |
| It's potent and murder is the slogan but | |
| We showin' you the erosion of the stereotypical | |
| Itchin' to pull the trigger on niggas | |
| This is all original | |
| And brand new, fidgetin' with tracks that are rigid and | |
| Pigeonholin rappers while collectin' dividends at the door | |
| Ya' know [ECHOES] | |
| And that's how it goes | |
| [CHORUS] | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Who the entertainers stompin' through like cross-trainers? | |
| Can't be no plainer | |
| YOU! | |
| The remainders couldn't never be that one | |
| Pack em in by millions attendance is platinum | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Who the innovators who stimulate like vibrators | |
| With rhymes so major | |
| YOU! | |
| Ya' need us to rock a show, hit the pager | |
| Niggas catch vapors when our lyrics hit the paper | |
| [Verse 2] | |
| Once again in your dimension, tension personified | |
| Del and Hieroglyphics pollenize | |
| We don't apolgize for gettin' places packed back-to-back | |
| Our rank cranks just about any function | |
| While your memory file is blank | |
| No hankey-pankey jankey stuff goin' | |
| Down over here no forms of raps eroding | |
| My styles fluctuate like the Dow Jones average | |
| While they stay savage | |
| My cassette change shape and transform like ravage or rumble | |
| Make the earth crumble and seperate | |
| Fallin' to the underground | |
| Get into your head like a metal plate | |
| While you sit and wait for these niggas on TV, they hella fake | |
| Hieroglyphics, they can never escape us | |
| The eagle eye, Mach 1, three mics | |
| Yes indeed, intuition is the tool in which I use | |
| When enrichin' you with original stylistics | |
| And the Hieroglyphic ritual is too habitually blowin up | |
| With ballistic attacks | |
| Let me just deal with the facts | |
| Niggas keep it real in they raps which are not realistic | |
| Perfection and our poetical competitive edge | |
| Is just a reflection of how we feel shit | |
| This history's impressionist microphone specialist | |
| Catchin' bids for puttin' MCs parts in my fridge | |
| But granted quiz it to exquisite to the highest EO | |
| My prodigal product a diabolical melodics | |
| Aquatic is nautical | |
| Motion, Hiero, kenetic flotation so **** ya phony radio rotation | |
| My colossal might on the mic is optimum | |
| Hip-hop from the Sequoia Heights populous | |
| Gamma rays like Bruce Banner | |
| Phase your scanner | |
| With mind over matter I slap the curls out you girl scouts....ya know | |
| [CHORUS] | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Are these originators rippin' cuts like sabres | |
| In the hands of Darth Vader | |
| YOU! | |
| The remainders couldn't never be that one | |
| Pack em in by millions attendance is platinum | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Who the innovators who stimulate like vibrators | |
| With rhymes so major | |
| YOU! | |
| Ya' need us to rock a show, hit the pager | |
| Niggas catch vapors when our lyrics hit the paper | |
| Yeah, Ah |
| zuo ci : Jones, Lindsey, Lindsey ... | |
| As long as you don' t put too much on it | |
| Verse 1 | |
| Tonight we got the mic on cruise | |
| With more luck than horseshoes | |
| While we fuse together like nbsp?? | |
| ' Cause we move with ten ton thrusters | |
| The cosmopolitan cosmonaut up in your knot again like aneurysms | |
| Expand with wisdom | |
| Musical mannerisms are parallel to cannibalism | |
| And animal instinct that' s in sync | |
| Distinct, leavin' suckas extinct when we combine | |
| The gravity hella fine, physics of mind | |
| Inebriating, leave you gaping open | |
| Nothing' s safe in Oakland | |
| It' s potent and murder is the slogan but | |
| We showin' you the erosion of the stereotypical | |
| Itchin' to pull the trigger on niggas | |
| This is all original | |
| And brand new, fidgetin' with tracks that are rigid and | |
| Pigeonholin rappers while collectin' dividends at the door | |
| Ya' know ECHOES | |
| And that' s how it goes | |
| CHORUS | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Who the entertainers stompin' through like crosstrainers? | |
| Can' t be no plainer | |
| YOU! | |
| The remainders couldn' t never be that one | |
| Pack em in by millions attendance is platinum | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Who the innovators who stimulate like vibrators | |
| With rhymes so major | |
| YOU! | |
| Ya' need us to rock a show, hit the pager | |
| Niggas catch vapors when our lyrics hit the paper | |
| Verse 2 | |
| Once again in your dimension, tension personified | |
| Del and Hieroglyphics pollenize | |
| We don' t apolgize for gettin' places packed backtoback | |
| Our rank cranks just about any function | |
| While your memory file is blank | |
| No hankeypankey jankey stuff goin' | |
| Down over here no forms of raps eroding | |
| My styles fluctuate like the Dow Jones average | |
| While they stay savage | |
| My cassette change shape and transform like ravage or rumble | |
| Make the earth crumble and seperate | |
| Fallin' to the underground | |
| Get into your head like a metal plate | |
| While you sit and wait for these niggas on TV, they hella fake | |
| Hieroglyphics, they can never escape us | |
| The eagle eye, Mach 1, three mics | |
| Yes indeed, intuition is the tool in which I use | |
| When enrichin' you with original stylistics | |
| And the Hieroglyphic ritual is too habitually blowin up | |
| With ballistic attacks | |
| Let me just deal with the facts | |
| Niggas keep it real in they raps which are not realistic | |
| Perfection and our poetical competitive edge | |
| Is just a reflection of how we feel shit | |
| This history' s impressionist microphone specialist | |
| Catchin' bids for puttin' MCs parts in my fridge | |
| But granted quiz it to exquisite to the highest EO | |
| My prodigal product a diabolical melodics | |
| Aquatic is nautical | |
| Motion, Hiero, kenetic flotation so ya phony radio rotation | |
| My colossal might on the mic is optimum | |
| Hiphop from the Sequoia Heights populous | |
| Gamma rays like Bruce Banner | |
| Phase your scanner | |
| With mind over matter I slap the curls out you girl scouts.... ya know | |
| CHORUS | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Are these originators rippin' cuts like sabres | |
| In the hands of Darth Vader | |
| YOU! | |
| The remainders couldn' t never be that one | |
| Pack em in by millions attendance is platinum | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Who the innovators who stimulate like vibrators | |
| With rhymes so major | |
| YOU! | |
| Ya' need us to rock a show, hit the pager | |
| Niggas catch vapors when our lyrics hit the paper | |
| Yeah, Ah |
| zuò cí : Jones, Lindsey, Lindsey ... | |
| As long as you don' t put too much on it | |
| Verse 1 | |
| Tonight we got the mic on cruise | |
| With more luck than horseshoes | |
| While we fuse together like nbsp?? | |
| ' Cause we move with ten ton thrusters | |
| The cosmopolitan cosmonaut up in your knot again like aneurysms | |
| Expand with wisdom | |
| Musical mannerisms are parallel to cannibalism | |
| And animal instinct that' s in sync | |
| Distinct, leavin' suckas extinct when we combine | |
| The gravity hella fine, physics of mind | |
| Inebriating, leave you gaping open | |
| Nothing' s safe in Oakland | |
| It' s potent and murder is the slogan but | |
| We showin' you the erosion of the stereotypical | |
| Itchin' to pull the trigger on niggas | |
| This is all original | |
| And brand new, fidgetin' with tracks that are rigid and | |
| Pigeonholin rappers while collectin' dividends at the door | |
| Ya' know ECHOES | |
| And that' s how it goes | |
| CHORUS | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Who the entertainers stompin' through like crosstrainers? | |
| Can' t be no plainer | |
| YOU! | |
| The remainders couldn' t never be that one | |
| Pack em in by millions attendance is platinum | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Who the innovators who stimulate like vibrators | |
| With rhymes so major | |
| YOU! | |
| Ya' need us to rock a show, hit the pager | |
| Niggas catch vapors when our lyrics hit the paper | |
| Verse 2 | |
| Once again in your dimension, tension personified | |
| Del and Hieroglyphics pollenize | |
| We don' t apolgize for gettin' places packed backtoback | |
| Our rank cranks just about any function | |
| While your memory file is blank | |
| No hankeypankey jankey stuff goin' | |
| Down over here no forms of raps eroding | |
| My styles fluctuate like the Dow Jones average | |
| While they stay savage | |
| My cassette change shape and transform like ravage or rumble | |
| Make the earth crumble and seperate | |
| Fallin' to the underground | |
| Get into your head like a metal plate | |
| While you sit and wait for these niggas on TV, they hella fake | |
| Hieroglyphics, they can never escape us | |
| The eagle eye, Mach 1, three mics | |
| Yes indeed, intuition is the tool in which I use | |
| When enrichin' you with original stylistics | |
| And the Hieroglyphic ritual is too habitually blowin up | |
| With ballistic attacks | |
| Let me just deal with the facts | |
| Niggas keep it real in they raps which are not realistic | |
| Perfection and our poetical competitive edge | |
| Is just a reflection of how we feel shit | |
| This history' s impressionist microphone specialist | |
| Catchin' bids for puttin' MCs parts in my fridge | |
| But granted quiz it to exquisite to the highest EO | |
| My prodigal product a diabolical melodics | |
| Aquatic is nautical | |
| Motion, Hiero, kenetic flotation so ya phony radio rotation | |
| My colossal might on the mic is optimum | |
| Hiphop from the Sequoia Heights populous | |
| Gamma rays like Bruce Banner | |
| Phase your scanner | |
| With mind over matter I slap the curls out you girl scouts.... ya know | |
| CHORUS | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Are these originators rippin' cuts like sabres | |
| In the hands of Darth Vader | |
| YOU! | |
| The remainders couldn' t never be that one | |
| Pack em in by millions attendance is platinum | |
| Who? Who? Who? Who? Who? | |
| Who the innovators who stimulate like vibrators | |
| With rhymes so major | |
| YOU! | |
| Ya' need us to rock a show, hit the pager | |
| Niggas catch vapors when our lyrics hit the paper | |
| Yeah, Ah |
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