| Yo, stop breathing fog on my window
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| I reconfigured your pixel display to disguise shut down system icons as OK
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| buttons
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| Modems fronting on connection rates, switching COM port data transfer levels to
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| 2400 Baud
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| I’m living large like 2,000 terabyte drives in 30 90s
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| Just promoted to device manager—check my stats on Britannica
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| Encyclopedia, read-only media, hidden directories with password protection by
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| all means (You know my steeze)
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| . |
| My flow been has encrypted and programmed to be equipped with the ill shit
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| that most can’t get with
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| My linguistics bring the noise, making connections fail
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| Overload your box and now you know that
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| Minimize operations, control panel hiatus
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| I dropped the DOS for analog studies of orchestration
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| It’s obsolete—1995 was then. |
| Now it’s 1998—we're taking over this update
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| Fuck Bill Gates. |
| I macro hard, take your processes for hostage
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| All the way from 686 to 808D HD imposter
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| Mini tower boxes stuffed with too many program ruled devices, concise with
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| mechanisms
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| Call the crisis center
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| I’m IBM compatible with any Macintosh contender
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| Catch me lounging at the task bar
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| The alcohol’s on caps lock, picking up the tab
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| Shift my control to alternate delete you motherfuckers out the lab
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| Fully activated, forever in a workshop
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| The universal sys ops is not my protocol
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| We hack through great codes and step through busted windows
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| Where silicon chips grow, crushing plastic landscape
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| From Pentium to N-e-x, adjust our broken keyboards
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| Restoring all mainframes and slice the phone line
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| On the internet, I roam across eternal syndrome
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| Chrome-plated Logitechs directs me towards the next intersect
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| Encrypting information, I damage workstations
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| Deface the databases like a race for technology
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| When deep inside the sectors of a one gig hard drive
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| I’m liver with no type of power management
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| Prevent all viruses, search for
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| Now upload my thoughts, make your hardware go soft
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| Rhymes melt through ya modem 'cause I’m powered off radium
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| Waiting for selection of a hidden icon
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| A pointing device that can slice through menus
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| Continuing to wreck, dissecting all websites
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| Consuming the contents of a chat room that’s wack
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| I react, making service collapse—now how’s that?
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| Drop it with the carrier or three-hundred Baud
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| Navigating through directories and instant memory
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| Deep embedded in your system—on excursion you can find me
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| Tryna download the ninety nine beta version
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| Not enough memory for ya Windows
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| POW! |
| All systems are down
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| Not enough memory for ya Windows
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| POW! |
| All systems are down
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| Not enough memory for ya Windows
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| Ya Windows, ya Windows
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| Windows 98 |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Windows 98 , by - Celph Titled. Song from the album The Gatalog, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп