Hityawitdat 歌词
| 歌曲 | Hityawitdat |
| 歌手 | Lootpack |
| 专辑 | Soundpieces: Da Antidote! |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Jackson, Jimenez | |
| Chorus：busta rhymes *sampled* | |
| Yo, i'm gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that's gonna make your dome crack, back, back | |
| Yo, i'm gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that's gonna make your dome crack, back, back | |
| Yo, i'm gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that's gonna make your dome crack, back, back | |
| Yo, i'm gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that's gonna make your dome crack, watch me... | |
| [madlib] | |
| Yo it's the slang buster, madlib the beat conductor | |
| I hit you off with that ill structure, cuts ya | |
| Never on the bandwagon at any time | |
| Every day, every place, got my pants saggin' | |
| For y'all niggas that be strictly braggin' | |
| Up at the spot so eager to grab the mic with the breath of dragon | |
| Niggas be walkin around waggin' there tail taggin' | |
| Along trying to get their mail laggin' | |
| Make me wanna disrespect and check | |
| Grab that nigga's neck and start gaggin' | |
| I drop a pound of discussion and drop a rhyme to leave you with a concusion | |
| And have your whole crew commence to hushin' | |
| Down with the master race of emcees | |
| Who terrorize, whoever flies up in the face talkin' lies | |
| I give a shout to the unseen at the lost gates | |
| While you're makin' mistakes, we make them hot plates | |
| (chorus) | |
| [madlib] | |
| Soundin' like, we got the rawest shit ever known to man | |
| Expand my lung with the chronic smoke then proceed with the plan | |
| My anecdote rain movin' on ya | |
| I got your brain locked down like some jail terrain | |
| You out for fame talkin' about my name, i aim atcha like a gat ya | |
| Thought you were my rapture, watch your mental fracture | |
| You're just an actor, playin' the rap game, total shame | |
| Nothing really gained when you shell framed is all in vain | |
| I hitcha with that shit that make ya neck snap | |
| While goin through my sp1200 with memory that's stacks | |
| The beat conductor keep your speaker shakin' | |
| I got your amp'll quakin like a vacation on haiti | |
| Relaxin', i'll take you on a mental trip, grip | |
| The ill loop digger signing out on the skit | |
| (chorus) | |
| *scratches to end* |
| zuo qu : Jackson, Jimenez | |
| Chorus: busta rhymes sampled | |
| Yo, i' m gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that' s gonna make your dome crack, back, back | |
| Yo, i' m gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that' s gonna make your dome crack, back, back | |
| Yo, i' m gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that' s gonna make your dome crack, back, back | |
| Yo, i' m gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that' s gonna make your dome crack, watch me... | |
| madlib | |
| Yo it' s the slang buster, madlib the beat conductor | |
| I hit you off with that ill structure, cuts ya | |
| Never on the bandwagon at any time | |
| Every day, every place, got my pants saggin' | |
| For y' all niggas that be strictly braggin' | |
| Up at the spot so eager to grab the mic with the breath of dragon | |
| Niggas be walkin around waggin' there tail taggin' | |
| Along trying to get their mail laggin' | |
| Make me wanna disrespect and check | |
| Grab that nigga' s neck and start gaggin' | |
| I drop a pound of discussion and drop a rhyme to leave you with a concusion | |
| And have your whole crew commence to hushin' | |
| Down with the master race of emcees | |
| Who terrorize, whoever flies up in the face talkin' lies | |
| I give a shout to the unseen at the lost gates | |
| While you' re makin' mistakes, we make them hot plates | |
| chorus | |
| madlib | |
| Soundin' like, we got the rawest shit ever known to man | |
| Expand my lung with the chronic smoke then proceed with the plan | |
| My anecdote rain movin' on ya | |
| I got your brain locked down like some jail terrain | |
| You out for fame talkin' about my name, i aim atcha like a gat ya | |
| Thought you were my rapture, watch your mental fracture | |
| You' re just an actor, playin' the rap game, total shame | |
| Nothing really gained when you shell framed is all in vain | |
| I hitcha with that shit that make ya neck snap | |
| While goin through my sp1200 with memory that' s stacks | |
| The beat conductor keep your speaker shakin' | |
| I got your amp' ll quakin like a vacation on haiti | |
| Relaxin', i' ll take you on a mental trip, grip | |
| The ill loop digger signing out on the skit | |
| chorus | |
| scratches to end |
| zuò qǔ : Jackson, Jimenez | |
| Chorus: busta rhymes sampled | |
| Yo, i' m gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that' s gonna make your dome crack, back, back | |
| Yo, i' m gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that' s gonna make your dome crack, back, back | |
| Yo, i' m gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that' s gonna make your dome crack, back, back | |
| Yo, i' m gonna hit real hard with that, | |
| Shit that' s gonna make your dome crack, watch me... | |
| madlib | |
| Yo it' s the slang buster, madlib the beat conductor | |
| I hit you off with that ill structure, cuts ya | |
| Never on the bandwagon at any time | |
| Every day, every place, got my pants saggin' | |
| For y' all niggas that be strictly braggin' | |
| Up at the spot so eager to grab the mic with the breath of dragon | |
| Niggas be walkin around waggin' there tail taggin' | |
| Along trying to get their mail laggin' | |
| Make me wanna disrespect and check | |
| Grab that nigga' s neck and start gaggin' | |
| I drop a pound of discussion and drop a rhyme to leave you with a concusion | |
| And have your whole crew commence to hushin' | |
| Down with the master race of emcees | |
| Who terrorize, whoever flies up in the face talkin' lies | |
| I give a shout to the unseen at the lost gates | |
| While you' re makin' mistakes, we make them hot plates | |
| chorus | |
| madlib | |
| Soundin' like, we got the rawest shit ever known to man | |
| Expand my lung with the chronic smoke then proceed with the plan | |
| My anecdote rain movin' on ya | |
| I got your brain locked down like some jail terrain | |
| You out for fame talkin' about my name, i aim atcha like a gat ya | |
| Thought you were my rapture, watch your mental fracture | |
| You' re just an actor, playin' the rap game, total shame | |
| Nothing really gained when you shell framed is all in vain | |
| I hitcha with that shit that make ya neck snap | |
| While goin through my sp1200 with memory that' s stacks | |
| The beat conductor keep your speaker shakin' | |
| I got your amp' ll quakin like a vacation on haiti | |
| Relaxin', i' ll take you on a mental trip, grip | |
| The ill loop digger signing out on the skit | |
| chorus | |
| scratches to end |
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