Loopdigga

Lyrics

[Verse: Madlib] 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 [Interlude: Madlib] 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) [Sample Change] [Verse 2: Medaphoar] 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 [Interlude: Madlib] 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 [Sample change] [Verse 3: Madlib] 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