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