Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Loopdigga , by - Lootpack. Song from the album Loopdigga, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 03.03.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Stones Throw
Song language: English
Loopdigga |
| 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 |