| Song | Must Be Bobby |
| Artist | RZA |
| Album | Digital Bullet |
| 作词 : Diggs | |
| Bo-bby, Bo-bby, | |
| Bo-bbyBo-bby | |
| Bo-bby, Bo-bby, | |
| Bo-bbyBo-bby, | |
| Bo-bby, Bo-bby, | |
| Bo-bbyYo, | |
| BobbyYo, yo, | |
| RZA BobbyYo, yo, | |
| RZA BobbyB- | |
| Bobby, yoHit the bodega for a 40 ounce son, | |
| Garcia Vega | |
| Two bags of chips, and one pack of | |
| Now and Laters | |
| Flame tucked down to my nuts, on my last buck | |
| Only thing keep a nigga calm is a good fuck | |
| Loose-leaf cigarettes be dipped in wet | |
| Chicken of the seas get trapped inside my net | |
| With their clothes off, son when the gun goes off | |
| I'm bound to play | |
| Napoleon, and blow a nose off | |
| Your Sphinx, your stumble rap style, your flow's off | |
| Like Kunta, tryin' to run with his chopped toes off | |
| Unchallenged sword | |
| I yield the storm rider | |
| Clip full of ruffled-tip fast-actin' long fire | |
| Four hundred grain cartridge, with steel casin' | |
| Those who can't draw the crowd is still tracin' | |
| The mic is cast to the floor and shapeshifted | |
| Heavy as the hammer of | |
| Thor you can't lift it | |
| So tense, bitch there's no defense | |
| This four-four inch'll make you jump the fence | |
| Right eye squinted; | |
| I speak brok-len | |
| EnglishStumble off the cold four-oh of old | |
| English Wu brew | |
| Two-two inside the shoe | |
| No describin' what this heat, in my jacket could do | |
| I teach, seeds to read, never reach for the weed indeed | |
| Bow down to the great | |
| Bob Digi Digi | |
| Yo, it must be | |
| BobbyOh, no, it must be | |
| BobbyOh, no, it must be | |
| BobbyOh, no, it must be | |
| I keep rice soaked in coconut milk mixed with | |
| TofuSit in the sun six hours then | |
| I charge up like | |
| GokuDragonball | |
| Z, imagine you're raggin' me | |
| That's like walkin' through a | |
| Blood hood flaggin' a | |
| CNot, tryin' to tell you how much weight we carry | |
| It may get, every snake in the tri-state buried | |
| Plus, Feds had one add, sayin' | |
| I gun traffed | |
| I sold twenty million records bitch, some laugh | |
| Fresh shafts of morning dew on | |
| Nancy Drew | |
| Sherlock Holmes crime sleuth couldn't figure the | |
| WuYou loaf of bread head, keep a sober head | |
| One point five million years my overhead | |
| Yo, yo, it must be | |
| BobbyYo, yo, it must be | |
| BobbyOh, no, it must be | |
| BobbyYo, check, yo | |
| I keep MC's puzzled keep my dogs in the muzzle | |
| Ice cold forty ounce drink 'em down with one guzzle | |
| Son might spit a word at a bird, see if she chirp back | |
| Tall chocolate deluxe buttercup, off the meat rack | |
| A chickenhead scratch the yard for worms | |
| And roosters walk around with their heads in the perm | |
| I be spreadin' knowledge keepin' my third eye polished | |
| Never, chase for dollars to fulfill the black wallet | |
| You must be | |
| Bellevue son | |
| I walk with twelve jewels | |
| Afford anything this world could sell you | |
| Beats that the change the style'll rearrange ya | |
| BZA-Bobby! | |
| I'm strikin' you like | |
| Beatlemania | |
| Yo, it must be | |
| BobbyOh, no, it must be | |
| BobbyYo, son, it must be | |
| BobbyBZA-buh, | |
| BZA-wha', | |
| BZA-BobbyFuckin' up the mic is still my hobby | |
| F-fuckin' up the mic is still my hobby | |
| Yo, yo, it must be | |
| Yeah yeahBo-bby | |
| Bo-bbyBo-bby |
| zuò cí : Diggs | |
| Bobby, Bobby, | |
| BobbyBobby | |
| Bobby, Bobby, | |
| BobbyBobby, | |
| Bobby, Bobby, | |
| BobbyYo, | |
| BobbyYo, yo, | |
| RZA BobbyYo, yo, | |
| RZA BobbyB | |
| Bobby, yoHit the bodega for a 40 ounce son, | |
| Garcia Vega | |
| Two bags of chips, and one pack of | |
| Now and Laters | |
| Flame tucked down to my nuts, on my last buck | |
| Only thing keep a nigga calm is a good fuck | |
| Looseleaf cigarettes be dipped in wet | |
| Chicken of the seas get trapped inside my net | |
| With their clothes off, son when the gun goes off | |
| I' m bound to play | |
| Napoleon, and blow a nose off | |
| Your Sphinx, your stumble rap style, your flow' s off | |
| Like Kunta, tryin' to run with his chopped toes off | |
| Unchallenged sword | |
| I yield the storm rider | |
| Clip full of ruffledtip fastactin' long fire | |
| Four hundred grain cartridge, with steel casin' | |
| Those who can' t draw the crowd is still tracin' | |
| The mic is cast to the floor and shapeshifted | |
| Heavy as the hammer of | |
| Thor you can' t lift it | |
| So tense, bitch there' s no defense | |
| This fourfour inch' ll make you jump the fence | |
| Right eye squinted | |
| I speak broklen | |
| EnglishStumble off the cold fouroh of old | |
| English Wu brew | |
| Twotwo inside the shoe | |
| No describin' what this heat, in my jacket could do | |
| I teach, seeds to read, never reach for the weed indeed | |
| Bow down to the great | |
| Bob Digi Digi | |
| Yo, it must be | |
| BobbyOh, no, it must be | |
| BobbyOh, no, it must be | |
| BobbyOh, no, it must be | |
| I keep rice soaked in coconut milk mixed with | |
| TofuSit in the sun six hours then | |
| I charge up like | |
| GokuDragonball | |
| Z, imagine you' re raggin' me | |
| That' s like walkin' through a | |
| Blood hood flaggin' a | |
| CNot, tryin' to tell you how much weight we carry | |
| It may get, every snake in the tristate buried | |
| Plus, Feds had one add, sayin' | |
| I gun traffed | |
| I sold twenty million records bitch, some laugh | |
| Fresh shafts of morning dew on | |
| Nancy Drew | |
| Sherlock Holmes crime sleuth couldn' t figure the | |
| WuYou loaf of bread head, keep a sober head | |
| One point five million years my overhead | |
| Yo, yo, it must be | |
| BobbyYo, yo, it must be | |
| BobbyOh, no, it must be | |
| BobbyYo, check, yo | |
| I keep MC' s puzzled keep my dogs in the muzzle | |
| Ice cold forty ounce drink ' em down with one guzzle | |
| Son might spit a word at a bird, see if she chirp back | |
| Tall chocolate deluxe buttercup, off the meat rack | |
| A chickenhead scratch the yard for worms | |
| And roosters walk around with their heads in the perm | |
| I be spreadin' knowledge keepin' my third eye polished | |
| Never, chase for dollars to fulfill the black wallet | |
| You must be | |
| Bellevue son | |
| I walk with twelve jewels | |
| Afford anything this world could sell you | |
| Beats that the change the style' ll rearrange ya | |
| BZABobby! | |
| I' m strikin' you like | |
| Beatlemania | |
| Yo, it must be | |
| BobbyOh, no, it must be | |
| BobbyYo, son, it must be | |
| BobbyBZAbuh, | |
| BZAwha', | |
| BZABobbyFuckin' up the mic is still my hobby | |
| Ffuckin' up the mic is still my hobby | |
| Yo, yo, it must be | |
| Yeah yeahBobby | |
| BobbyBobby |