Lootpack, M.E.D. - Loopdigga lyrics
[Lootpack, M.E.D. - Loopdigga lyrics]
A yo I'm the type of brother that
Don't like to hear the same thing
Over and over so I don't listen to the radio
I go beat shopping with my
Brothers or my lady yo
They take me to the spot so I can dig
Come home with the fat stack and dig
Instead of playing sports I'd rather dig
Call my nigga Kan Kick to see
If he got this shit
Hey you heard that Cal Tjader?
We be sprung off them loops
Like brothers play hoops
Playing old static loop tapes for Lex, Jeeps
Bizzers and Coupes
Keep sampling wack while I dig
Up the raw core
A yo I'm out, I gotta go the record store
Peace
Damn, what time is it?
Tryin' to think, should I hit
Up that TO spot, hit that LA
Damn, next week we goin to the bay so
Ay there go Mad, ay Mad!
(yeah is that Madlib
Ay what's up Madlib? Wussup)
Blaze this for all y'all
By all means necessary raw, no holds barred
Spit at y'all
Sixteen bars of war for who you sleeping on
Emcees acting hard
Nutting up to catch flu balls
Stomp before you pawn the dark
Paws when I drop dogs
Landing multiples, no charge when beef starts
Med ends it with a verse
That snaps you retards
You fall of cos no heart
California mindstate i regulate
Rhyme penetrate right through
Your chest plate
Checkmate fate for your demo
Tape and yellow tape of one trace
Med the master race throughout the tri-state
On a daily base stay laced with
A verse to rock a universe
A skirt, blowing up and won't burst
There's lessons to be learnt
When I'm on fire you stay concerned
Cos I'm eager to burn biters for
The chips as they earn
That's my word, drink, smoke a pound of herb
Herb and swerve my way to learn
805 ways to get served with words
Finally here
Hmm, what should I get? Mad selections
Damn, 1969 steve Kuhn
You know that got some Fender Rhodes on it
Oh shit, I ain't seen that Roy Ayers, 1968
Good year what about that Bug-out shit? nah
Ornette Coleman (Ornette?)
I ain't wastin' my money
Ay, can you hold my record? Be right back
(Go hit this weed) damn, they got mad shit
(Man, it's cold as fu- out here)
Two hit's and pass, two hit's and pass
Steppin' back in this piece
Ever since I was young digging
In my pop's stack
Sampling off cassettes, 33s, 45s and 8 Tracks
Rare wax, a true loop digga's attraction
Always spend a fraction of my
Check on fat jams
Second hand stores get rushed like area wars
You could always catch me digging
At your local record stores
For the raw buying vinyl until my final
Days, blow away pay, various ways to connect
Fat loops, put mics in check
Turn the SP on and commence to dissect
Bust a vest in your rest he's a fake nigga
So how many y'all niggas
Know about crate digging
Don't like to hear the same thing
Over and over so I don't listen to the radio
I go beat shopping with my
Brothers or my lady yo
They take me to the spot so I can dig
Come home with the fat stack and dig
Instead of playing sports I'd rather dig
Call my nigga Kan Kick to see
If he got this shit
Hey you heard that Cal Tjader?
We be sprung off them loops
Like brothers play hoops
Playing old static loop tapes for Lex, Jeeps
Bizzers and Coupes
Keep sampling wack while I dig
Up the raw core
A yo I'm out, I gotta go the record store
Peace
Damn, what time is it?
Tryin' to think, should I hit
Up that TO spot, hit that LA
Damn, next week we goin to the bay so
Ay there go Mad, ay Mad!
(yeah is that Madlib
Ay what's up Madlib? Wussup)
Blaze this for all y'all
By all means necessary raw, no holds barred
Spit at y'all
Sixteen bars of war for who you sleeping on
Emcees acting hard
Nutting up to catch flu balls
Stomp before you pawn the dark
Paws when I drop dogs
Landing multiples, no charge when beef starts
Med ends it with a verse
That snaps you retards
You fall of cos no heart
California mindstate i regulate
Rhyme penetrate right through
Your chest plate
Checkmate fate for your demo
Tape and yellow tape of one trace
Med the master race throughout the tri-state
On a daily base stay laced with
A verse to rock a universe
A skirt, blowing up and won't burst
There's lessons to be learnt
When I'm on fire you stay concerned
Cos I'm eager to burn biters for
The chips as they earn
That's my word, drink, smoke a pound of herb
Herb and swerve my way to learn
805 ways to get served with words
Finally here
Hmm, what should I get? Mad selections
Damn, 1969 steve Kuhn
You know that got some Fender Rhodes on it
Oh shit, I ain't seen that Roy Ayers, 1968
Good year what about that Bug-out shit? nah
Ornette Coleman (Ornette?)
I ain't wastin' my money
Ay, can you hold my record? Be right back
(Go hit this weed) damn, they got mad shit
(Man, it's cold as fu- out here)
Two hit's and pass, two hit's and pass
Steppin' back in this piece
Ever since I was young digging
In my pop's stack
Sampling off cassettes, 33s, 45s and 8 Tracks
Rare wax, a true loop digga's attraction
Always spend a fraction of my
Check on fat jams
Second hand stores get rushed like area wars
You could always catch me digging
At your local record stores
For the raw buying vinyl until my final
Days, blow away pay, various ways to connect
Fat loops, put mics in check
Turn the SP on and commence to dissect
Bust a vest in your rest he's a fake nigga
So how many y'all niggas
Know about crate digging