Do U 歌词
| 歌曲 | Do U |
| 歌手 | RZA |
| 专辑 | Digital Bullet |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Diggs, Grice, Russ | |
| Come on my niggaz, yo, put your guns in your right hand | |
| And hold it down towards the floor | |
| Point all your guns down towards the floor for a minute | |
| Just wanna talk to you, yeah, you could hold 'em | |
| Just point 'em down towards the floor for a sec, aright? | |
| We gon' splash like this, all my wild | |
| Digi heads | |
| Yeah, y'all niggaz move a little up to the front | |
| Y'all niggaz know what | |
| I'm talkin' about | |
| Word up, my weed heads | |
| I'll play the right for a second | |
| Nahmean, check it out | |
| All y'all niggaz on | |
| X, y'all keep y'all asses in the back, aright | |
| Check it up, matter of fact, yo, matter of fact we gon' mingle | |
| With this shit like peas in the mothafuckin' pot | |
| Straight up | |
| Digi, Digi style, word up, as we splash you like this | |
| Walk wit a didi bop ock, you silly pop, | |
| Jiffy PopFuck around son, | |
| I'll blow ya face up with fifty shots | |
| Sharp darts, and it pop, pop like tarts | |
| Extreme speed [Incomprehensible] like anakin inside the pod | |
| Headed for the finish line, watch | |
| Bobby cross it | |
| Hoes with the diamonds on your toes, come on and floss it | |
| I be one of those tall skinny cats with the four-nine | |
| Three-eleven that rips through | |
| Power-U's and breaks spines | |
| I culture power-tuggin' boys who be drunk, buggin' | |
| Lovin' loud noise from toys, club thuggin', huggin' | |
| Sweet chocolate deluxe, rugged, sexy buttercup | |
| That don't give a fuck about the cop in the club | |
| Or the bouncer with the flashlight, one walked passed, right | |
| Some pulled the razor and chopped his ear like he was | |
| Mad MikeI played the cipher in the corner, teachin' math | |
| And I for one thoughts, a hundred brothers won't last | |
| Because you can't do me, because you can't do me | |
| Because you can't do me, come on | |
| Yo, son, wake up, yo, yo, | |
| I gotta do this | |
| Man, I gotta get this money, son | |
| Features in the crowd, appearance like black, | |
| I'm proudIn the background, no sounds, four pound, we hold ground | |
| Brooklyn bound, seven initials up in the crown | |
| One man's ramblin', officials they shot him down | |
| Supreme, extreme, lean, keen, killin' machines | |
| All I wanna do is feed my seed, plus my team | |
| Keep it logical, no games, straight up about | |
| ProdigalDiabolic drums and | |
| I run from none | |
| Testimony one, give my life before my only son | |
| Thelonious crumbs, why they wanna press me for guns? | |
| Now I'm in the face of the judge, court case thug | |
| From a race laced based on drugs, some made slugs | |
| As it was written, stroll through any block forbidden | |
| Glock hidden, why they wanna stop precision? | |
| Eighty-five percent of my brothers locked in prison | |
| And we just keep dyin' it for the love of good livin' | |
| But do you, do you, do you? | |
| You know those jams in the park produced the spark | |
| Made me feel words how | |
| I read books in the dark | |
| I always took it to heart, loved the art | |
| A lifetime of darts ripped crews apart | |
| Made their stay real short, | |
| I stamped the passport | |
| Couldn't bring through no wack shit of no sort | |
| I walked the borough challengin' the best that stood | |
| Torch metal mics, they conduct better than wood | |
| Once I electrify and only expect to die | |
| Rounded Bed- | |
| Stuy, nigga fry | |
| My opponent block, the beat comin' from his box | |
| Investment ranker who's a joke in the stocks | |
| Keep a rhythmic pace, maintainin' great balance | |
| Movin' in steps of unheard of silence | |
| Normal progression as the slope steepens | |
| Niggaz wanna light up when there's gas leakin' |
| zuo ci : Diggs, Grice, Russ | |
| Come on my niggaz, yo, put your guns in your right hand | |
| And hold it down towards the floor | |
| Point all your guns down towards the floor for a minute | |
| Just wanna talk to you, yeah, you could hold ' em | |
| Just point ' em down towards the floor for a sec, aright? | |
| We gon' splash like this, all my wild | |
| Digi heads | |
| Yeah, y' all niggaz move a little up to the front | |
| Y' all niggaz know what | |
| I' m talkin' about | |
| Word up, my weed heads | |
| I' ll play the right for a second | |
| Nahmean, check it out | |
| All y' all niggaz on | |
| X, y' all keep y' all asses in the back, aright | |
| Check it up, matter of fact, yo, matter of fact we gon' mingle | |
| With this shit like peas in the mothafuckin' pot | |
| Straight up | |
| Digi, Digi style, word up, as we splash you like this | |
| Walk wit a didi bop ock, you silly pop, | |
| Jiffy PopFuck around son, | |
| I' ll blow ya face up with fifty shots | |
| Sharp darts, and it pop, pop like tarts | |
| Extreme speed Incomprehensible like anakin inside the pod | |
| Headed for the finish line, watch | |
| Bobby cross it | |
| Hoes with the diamonds on your toes, come on and floss it | |
| I be one of those tall skinny cats with the fournine | |
| Threeeleven that rips through | |
| PowerU' s and breaks spines | |
| I culture powertuggin' boys who be drunk, buggin' | |
| Lovin' loud noise from toys, club thuggin', huggin' | |
| Sweet chocolate deluxe, rugged, sexy buttercup | |
| That don' t give a fuck about the cop in the club | |
| Or the bouncer with the flashlight, one walked passed, right | |
| Some pulled the razor and chopped his ear like he was | |
| Mad MikeI played the cipher in the corner, teachin' math | |
| And I for one thoughts, a hundred brothers won' t last | |
| Because you can' t do me, because you can' t do me | |
| Because you can' t do me, come on | |
| Yo, son, wake up, yo, yo, | |
| I gotta do this | |
| Man, I gotta get this money, son | |
| Features in the crowd, appearance like black, | |
| I' m proudIn the background, no sounds, four pound, we hold ground | |
| Brooklyn bound, seven initials up in the crown | |
| One man' s ramblin', officials they shot him down | |
| Supreme, extreme, lean, keen, killin' machines | |
| All I wanna do is feed my seed, plus my team | |
| Keep it logical, no games, straight up about | |
| ProdigalDiabolic drums and | |
| I run from none | |
| Testimony one, give my life before my only son | |
| Thelonious crumbs, why they wanna press me for guns? | |
| Now I' m in the face of the judge, court case thug | |
| From a race laced based on drugs, some made slugs | |
| As it was written, stroll through any block forbidden | |
| Glock hidden, why they wanna stop precision? | |
| Eightyfive percent of my brothers locked in prison | |
| And we just keep dyin' it for the love of good livin' | |
| But do you, do you, do you? | |
| You know those jams in the park produced the spark | |
| Made me feel words how | |
| I read books in the dark | |
| I always took it to heart, loved the art | |
| A lifetime of darts ripped crews apart | |
| Made their stay real short, | |
| I stamped the passport | |
| Couldn' t bring through no wack shit of no sort | |
| I walked the borough challengin' the best that stood | |
| Torch metal mics, they conduct better than wood | |
| Once I electrify and only expect to die | |
| Rounded Bed | |
| Stuy, nigga fry | |
| My opponent block, the beat comin' from his box | |
| Investment ranker who' s a joke in the stocks | |
| Keep a rhythmic pace, maintainin' great balance | |
| Movin' in steps of unheard of silence | |
| Normal progression as the slope steepens | |
| Niggaz wanna light up when there' s gas leakin' |
| zuò cí : Diggs, Grice, Russ | |
| Come on my niggaz, yo, put your guns in your right hand | |
| And hold it down towards the floor | |
| Point all your guns down towards the floor for a minute | |
| Just wanna talk to you, yeah, you could hold ' em | |
| Just point ' em down towards the floor for a sec, aright? | |
| We gon' splash like this, all my wild | |
| Digi heads | |
| Yeah, y' all niggaz move a little up to the front | |
| Y' all niggaz know what | |
| I' m talkin' about | |
| Word up, my weed heads | |
| I' ll play the right for a second | |
| Nahmean, check it out | |
| All y' all niggaz on | |
| X, y' all keep y' all asses in the back, aright | |
| Check it up, matter of fact, yo, matter of fact we gon' mingle | |
| With this shit like peas in the mothafuckin' pot | |
| Straight up | |
| Digi, Digi style, word up, as we splash you like this | |
| Walk wit a didi bop ock, you silly pop, | |
| Jiffy PopFuck around son, | |
| I' ll blow ya face up with fifty shots | |
| Sharp darts, and it pop, pop like tarts | |
| Extreme speed Incomprehensible like anakin inside the pod | |
| Headed for the finish line, watch | |
| Bobby cross it | |
| Hoes with the diamonds on your toes, come on and floss it | |
| I be one of those tall skinny cats with the fournine | |
| Threeeleven that rips through | |
| PowerU' s and breaks spines | |
| I culture powertuggin' boys who be drunk, buggin' | |
| Lovin' loud noise from toys, club thuggin', huggin' | |
| Sweet chocolate deluxe, rugged, sexy buttercup | |
| That don' t give a fuck about the cop in the club | |
| Or the bouncer with the flashlight, one walked passed, right | |
| Some pulled the razor and chopped his ear like he was | |
| Mad MikeI played the cipher in the corner, teachin' math | |
| And I for one thoughts, a hundred brothers won' t last | |
| Because you can' t do me, because you can' t do me | |
| Because you can' t do me, come on | |
| Yo, son, wake up, yo, yo, | |
| I gotta do this | |
| Man, I gotta get this money, son | |
| Features in the crowd, appearance like black, | |
| I' m proudIn the background, no sounds, four pound, we hold ground | |
| Brooklyn bound, seven initials up in the crown | |
| One man' s ramblin', officials they shot him down | |
| Supreme, extreme, lean, keen, killin' machines | |
| All I wanna do is feed my seed, plus my team | |
| Keep it logical, no games, straight up about | |
| ProdigalDiabolic drums and | |
| I run from none | |
| Testimony one, give my life before my only son | |
| Thelonious crumbs, why they wanna press me for guns? | |
| Now I' m in the face of the judge, court case thug | |
| From a race laced based on drugs, some made slugs | |
| As it was written, stroll through any block forbidden | |
| Glock hidden, why they wanna stop precision? | |
| Eightyfive percent of my brothers locked in prison | |
| And we just keep dyin' it for the love of good livin' | |
| But do you, do you, do you? | |
| You know those jams in the park produced the spark | |
| Made me feel words how | |
| I read books in the dark | |
| I always took it to heart, loved the art | |
| A lifetime of darts ripped crews apart | |
| Made their stay real short, | |
| I stamped the passport | |
| Couldn' t bring through no wack shit of no sort | |
| I walked the borough challengin' the best that stood | |
| Torch metal mics, they conduct better than wood | |
| Once I electrify and only expect to die | |
| Rounded Bed | |
| Stuy, nigga fry | |
| My opponent block, the beat comin' from his box | |
| Investment ranker who' s a joke in the stocks | |
| Keep a rhythmic pace, maintainin' great balance | |
| Movin' in steps of unheard of silence | |
| Normal progression as the slope steepens | |
| Niggaz wanna light up when there' s gas leakin' |
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