Digi Warfare Lyrics
| Song | Digi Warfare |
| Artist | Masta Killa |
| Album | No Said Date |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Turner | |
| (Intro: Masta Killa) | |
| We gon' take this back, crazy old school | |
| Off the head one time, get a DJ something to a-- | |
| Chika-chika-chika-chika-chicka-chicka-chhhh | |
| Get 'em something to scratch, yaknowhatimsayin? | |
| My nigga Choco, Jam Master Jay on the 1's and 2's | |
| It's Allah Math, Red Alert, Marley Marl | |
| Kid Capri, Funkmaster Flex and uh, Mr. Cee | |
| I can't forget, Sway and Tech | |
| Jazz Joyce, DJ Clue, Cocoa Chanel | |
| I be Jamel, I rocks the mic well, well | |
| Rock the mic well, well, well.. | |
| (Masta Killa) | |
| On and on, to the break of dawn | |
| Hot Butter on, say what? The popcorn | |
| Freak 'em to the left, while we rock 'em to the right | |
| Brooklyn in the house, who wanna fight? | |
| Can we bounce? Roll to the skate ya rock | |
| Hip to the hop and ya don't dare stop | |
| Come alive party people, gimme what you got | |
| I guess by now you can take a hunch | |
| Fine, I'm the ninth member of the bunch | |
| Rockin' old school ain't shit to me | |
| MC's OD on the shit that I wrote | |
| Can we smoke while I'm drinkin'? I'm thinkin' of bonin' | |
| Sugar, I wanna ride yo ass until the mornin' | |
| Who you moanin: Jamel Arief, High Chief, comin' outta East Medins | |
| (Chorus: Masta Killa) | |
| Ladies in the house if ya clockin' Gs | |
| Sippin' on drink, Long Island Iced Teas | |
| Lookin' real good from ya toes to ya weave | |
| Tell the fellas back up and like let ya breathe | |
| Fellas in the house if ya know ya live | |
| Punch niggaz in the face from Cali to Bed-stuy | |
| Handlin' the steel if the shit get real | |
| Just flip a pie and stack ya mil' | |
| (Masta Killa) | |
| Activation, mind starts sparkin' | |
| Constant elevation, sky walkin' | |
| David Thompson, my Wu niggaz stompin' | |
| Down the boulevard, shakin' yo ass | |
| You better watch yo self, I'm type slick | |
| With a nice size --- lemme see you work it | |
| She wanna suck it in public | |
| Ol' Dirty Bastard can use it on the visitings, you wit it? | |
| Then holla like wheels on appeal, don't squeel | |
| Just keep it on the 'lils, for the Masta Kill | |
| Just givin' you somethin' that y'all can feel | |
| I see you in the hood, then ya fam from Tilden | |
| Slid through the back of the buildin', heat concealed in | |
| Stare to your place | |
| Rae bomb the elevator, an Incarcerated Scarface, here, taste | |
| The lace from the dominant race to the base | |
| In ya face like paste, baby doll | |
| Uh, uh, uh, uh, yes yes y'all | |
| Welcome to the block party, shots lick off | |
| You might wanna hit the deck, but stay calm | |
| It's only us, every thing's steelwell plush | |
| We freakin' the streets, the Shiek shows the beat {*echoes*} | |
| (Interlude: RZA (U-God)) | |
| One two, one two | |
| I'ma try this one more time, son | |
| Lemme in there, yo put that nigga back son | |
| (Yeah, hit hard) | |
| (Masta Killa) | |
| Like... hip hop, like socialize | |
| Clean out ya ears and ya open ya eyes | |
| Liquid Sword to the city | |
| Peace Allah Just, that's one of the committee | |
| Let's hook up the 6 for a chess contest | |
| Leave a little stress | |
| I'll snatch a bag of the Uptown's best | |
| Make ya love it when ya smell it | |
| It's the velvet, block of chocolate for a hundred | |
| Dredd' got pounds, if ya wanna get down | |
| Or we can catch 'em on the next round | |
| My universal sound is like world reknowned | |
| World reknowned, world reknowned | |
| My universal sound is like world reknowned {*echoes*} | |
| (Chorus) |
| zuo qu : Turner | |
| Intro: Masta Killa | |
| We gon' take this back, crazy old school | |
| Off the head one time, get a DJ something to a | |
| Chikachikachikachikachickachickachhhh | |
| Get ' em something to scratch, yaknowhatimsayin? | |
| My nigga Choco, Jam Master Jay on the 1' s and 2' s | |
| It' s Allah Math, Red Alert, Marley Marl | |
| Kid Capri, Funkmaster Flex and uh, Mr. Cee | |
| I can' t forget, Sway and Tech | |
| Jazz Joyce, DJ Clue, Cocoa Chanel | |
| I be Jamel, I rocks the mic well, well | |
| Rock the mic well, well, well.. | |
| Masta Killa | |
| On and on, to the break of dawn | |
| Hot Butter on, say what? The popcorn | |
| Freak ' em to the left, while we rock ' em to the right | |
| Brooklyn in the house, who wanna fight? | |
| Can we bounce? Roll to the skate ya rock | |
| Hip to the hop and ya don' t dare stop | |
| Come alive party people, gimme what you got | |
| I guess by now you can take a hunch | |
| Fine, I' m the ninth member of the bunch | |
| Rockin' old school ain' t shit to me | |
| MC' s OD on the shit that I wrote | |
| Can we smoke while I' m drinkin'? I' m thinkin' of bonin' | |
| Sugar, I wanna ride yo ass until the mornin' | |
| Who you moanin: Jamel Arief, High Chief, comin' outta East Medins | |
| Chorus: Masta Killa | |
| Ladies in the house if ya clockin' Gs | |
| Sippin' on drink, Long Island Iced Teas | |
| Lookin' real good from ya toes to ya weave | |
| Tell the fellas back up and like let ya breathe | |
| Fellas in the house if ya know ya live | |
| Punch niggaz in the face from Cali to Bedstuy | |
| Handlin' the steel if the shit get real | |
| Just flip a pie and stack ya mil' | |
| Masta Killa | |
| Activation, mind starts sparkin' | |
| Constant elevation, sky walkin' | |
| David Thompson, my Wu niggaz stompin' | |
| Down the boulevard, shakin' yo ass | |
| You better watch yo self, I' m type slick | |
| With a nice size lemme see you work it | |
| She wanna suck it in public | |
| Ol' Dirty Bastard can use it on the visitings, you wit it? | |
| Then holla like wheels on appeal, don' t squeel | |
| Just keep it on the ' lils, for the Masta Kill | |
| Just givin' you somethin' that y' all can feel | |
| I see you in the hood, then ya fam from Tilden | |
| Slid through the back of the buildin', heat concealed in | |
| Stare to your place | |
| Rae bomb the elevator, an Incarcerated Scarface, here, taste | |
| The lace from the dominant race to the base | |
| In ya face like paste, baby doll | |
| Uh, uh, uh, uh, yes yes y' all | |
| Welcome to the block party, shots lick off | |
| You might wanna hit the deck, but stay calm | |
| It' s only us, every thing' s steelwell plush | |
| We freakin' the streets, the Shiek shows the beat echoes | |
| Interlude: RZA UGod | |
| One two, one two | |
| I' ma try this one more time, son | |
| Lemme in there, yo put that nigga back son | |
| Yeah, hit hard | |
| Masta Killa | |
| Like... hip hop, like socialize | |
| Clean out ya ears and ya open ya eyes | |
| Liquid Sword to the city | |
| Peace Allah Just, that' s one of the committee | |
| Let' s hook up the 6 for a chess contest | |
| Leave a little stress | |
| I' ll snatch a bag of the Uptown' s best | |
| Make ya love it when ya smell it | |
| It' s the velvet, block of chocolate for a hundred | |
| Dredd' got pounds, if ya wanna get down | |
| Or we can catch ' em on the next round | |
| My universal sound is like world reknowned | |
| World reknowned, world reknowned | |
| My universal sound is like world reknowned echoes | |
| Chorus |
| zuò qǔ : Turner | |
| Intro: Masta Killa | |
| We gon' take this back, crazy old school | |
| Off the head one time, get a DJ something to a | |
| Chikachikachikachikachickachickachhhh | |
| Get ' em something to scratch, yaknowhatimsayin? | |
| My nigga Choco, Jam Master Jay on the 1' s and 2' s | |
| It' s Allah Math, Red Alert, Marley Marl | |
| Kid Capri, Funkmaster Flex and uh, Mr. Cee | |
| I can' t forget, Sway and Tech | |
| Jazz Joyce, DJ Clue, Cocoa Chanel | |
| I be Jamel, I rocks the mic well, well | |
| Rock the mic well, well, well.. | |
| Masta Killa | |
| On and on, to the break of dawn | |
| Hot Butter on, say what? The popcorn | |
| Freak ' em to the left, while we rock ' em to the right | |
| Brooklyn in the house, who wanna fight? | |
| Can we bounce? Roll to the skate ya rock | |
| Hip to the hop and ya don' t dare stop | |
| Come alive party people, gimme what you got | |
| I guess by now you can take a hunch | |
| Fine, I' m the ninth member of the bunch | |
| Rockin' old school ain' t shit to me | |
| MC' s OD on the shit that I wrote | |
| Can we smoke while I' m drinkin'? I' m thinkin' of bonin' | |
| Sugar, I wanna ride yo ass until the mornin' | |
| Who you moanin: Jamel Arief, High Chief, comin' outta East Medins | |
| Chorus: Masta Killa | |
| Ladies in the house if ya clockin' Gs | |
| Sippin' on drink, Long Island Iced Teas | |
| Lookin' real good from ya toes to ya weave | |
| Tell the fellas back up and like let ya breathe | |
| Fellas in the house if ya know ya live | |
| Punch niggaz in the face from Cali to Bedstuy | |
| Handlin' the steel if the shit get real | |
| Just flip a pie and stack ya mil' | |
| Masta Killa | |
| Activation, mind starts sparkin' | |
| Constant elevation, sky walkin' | |
| David Thompson, my Wu niggaz stompin' | |
| Down the boulevard, shakin' yo ass | |
| You better watch yo self, I' m type slick | |
| With a nice size lemme see you work it | |
| She wanna suck it in public | |
| Ol' Dirty Bastard can use it on the visitings, you wit it? | |
| Then holla like wheels on appeal, don' t squeel | |
| Just keep it on the ' lils, for the Masta Kill | |
| Just givin' you somethin' that y' all can feel | |
| I see you in the hood, then ya fam from Tilden | |
| Slid through the back of the buildin', heat concealed in | |
| Stare to your place | |
| Rae bomb the elevator, an Incarcerated Scarface, here, taste | |
| The lace from the dominant race to the base | |
| In ya face like paste, baby doll | |
| Uh, uh, uh, uh, yes yes y' all | |
| Welcome to the block party, shots lick off | |
| You might wanna hit the deck, but stay calm | |
| It' s only us, every thing' s steelwell plush | |
| We freakin' the streets, the Shiek shows the beat echoes | |
| Interlude: RZA UGod | |
| One two, one two | |
| I' ma try this one more time, son | |
| Lemme in there, yo put that nigga back son | |
| Yeah, hit hard | |
| Masta Killa | |
| Like... hip hop, like socialize | |
| Clean out ya ears and ya open ya eyes | |
| Liquid Sword to the city | |
| Peace Allah Just, that' s one of the committee | |
| Let' s hook up the 6 for a chess contest | |
| Leave a little stress | |
| I' ll snatch a bag of the Uptown' s best | |
| Make ya love it when ya smell it | |
| It' s the velvet, block of chocolate for a hundred | |
| Dredd' got pounds, if ya wanna get down | |
| Or we can catch ' em on the next round | |
| My universal sound is like world reknowned | |
| World reknowned, world reknowned | |
| My universal sound is like world reknowned echoes | |
| Chorus |
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