| Song | WAOK (Ay) Rollcall - Album Version (Explicit) |
| Artist | The Roots |
| Album | Phrenology |
| 作曲 : A.P. Thompson/L. Ron Hubbard | |
| (Chorus: Kweli & Dice Raw) | |
| Downtown everybody move to the beat | |
| Uptown everybody moving the heat | |
| Cross-town the party where both sides meet | |
| Eastside, westside, there's always beef (X2) | |
| (Kweli) | |
| I tattoo the page with the permanent ink | |
| Mr. Rourke on your Fantasy Island | |
| The umbrella in your tropical drinks | |
| Still run it up it, liquor in your cup | |
| Fucking you up | |
| Hang over the banister | |
| You feel the rush of the blood going straight to your brain | |
| Ain't no love, you only love bringing hate to the game | |
| Taking my name in vain, mistaking license for freedom | |
| He make music for the people, people dying to meet him | |
| People! | |
| We still abuse it, while the rich is made of music | |
| He probably driving a Buick and be rocking van--? | |
| G-U-E relevant, see how his man do it | |
| Fucking with niggas from illa fifth, see how we ran through it | |
| The river in the valley | |
| The nigga in the alley | |
| Rolling with the heat from BK to killer Cali | |
| The hands will fake the clapping | |
| You'll be collasping | |
| You softer than the land on legs | |
| Transforming the landscape | |
| Like a sandstorm in the Sahara | |
| I am the truest nigga | |
| I do more shows than The Roots to Carol Lewis | |
| Creative artist, never play the targets of game hunters | |
| You may want to test this product like cane smugglers | |
| Dis disco shit | |
| Popping like Crisco | |
| Hitting your face | |
| Spit in your face like pistol shit | |
| My style, wild like wipple whip | |
| I go back like a pistol grip | |
| It's pro-black, Kweli! | |
| (Chorus w/o Kweli) | |
| (Black Thought) | |
| I'm a FED like Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms | |
| Willy gank, spit the killer dank dialogue | |
| Pyro-maniac like Dr. Molotov | |
| I knock the bottle off | |
| And knock the model off | |
| Gots some non-believers here | |
| Some how I'll save y'all | |
| Or stop y'all worries, you makin me vexed | |
| Hit up gekko, this ain't got gold correct | |
| I'll fucking bounty hunt your body like I'm Boba Fett | |
| Cause you a toy not a soldier yet | |
| You better hold your neck | |
| You dick smokers get no respect | |
| With the blood, ice your watch, rock your rocks | |
| Better rock it on the screen and not the blocks | |
| Cuz them crews don't stop them shots | |
| It's so many that fly, they chase down, I just stop and watch | |
| I'm from the south side of philly, it's known to get gruesome | |
| Heavy hitter villians these alleyways produce them | |
| Heavy hitter on a pocket we find a way to juice them | |
| They may as well pay, schmuck | |
| Introducing the B-to L-A see me the king splitter | |
| Then analyze this dime, the main thing glitter | |
| Then analyze the taste in your mouth, it seem bitter | |
| Ganster, valid dick torian, graduate of I dare you | |
| If you are paper thin I'm a tear you | |
| I'm a come take care of you put a part in your hairdo | |
| You barking like I'm a starting to scare you | |
| But speak up like a man nigga so your body guards can hear you |
| zuò qǔ : A. P. Thompson L. Ron Hubbard | |
| Chorus: Kweli Dice Raw | |
| Downtown everybody move to the beat | |
| Uptown everybody moving the heat | |
| Crosstown the party where both sides meet | |
| Eastside, westside, there' s always beef X2 | |
| Kweli | |
| I tattoo the page with the permanent ink | |
| Mr. Rourke on your Fantasy Island | |
| The umbrella in your tropical drinks | |
| Still run it up it, liquor in your cup | |
| Fucking you up | |
| Hang over the banister | |
| You feel the rush of the blood going straight to your brain | |
| Ain' t no love, you only love bringing hate to the game | |
| Taking my name in vain, mistaking license for freedom | |
| He make music for the people, people dying to meet him | |
| People! | |
| We still abuse it, while the rich is made of music | |
| He probably driving a Buick and be rocking van? | |
| GUE relevant, see how his man do it | |
| Fucking with niggas from illa fifth, see how we ran through it | |
| The river in the valley | |
| The nigga in the alley | |
| Rolling with the heat from BK to killer Cali | |
| The hands will fake the clapping | |
| You' ll be collasping | |
| You softer than the land on legs | |
| Transforming the landscape | |
| Like a sandstorm in the Sahara | |
| I am the truest nigga | |
| I do more shows than The Roots to Carol Lewis | |
| Creative artist, never play the targets of game hunters | |
| You may want to test this product like cane smugglers | |
| Dis disco shit | |
| Popping like Crisco | |
| Hitting your face | |
| Spit in your face like pistol shit | |
| My style, wild like wipple whip | |
| I go back like a pistol grip | |
| It' s problack, Kweli! | |
| Chorus w o Kweli | |
| Black Thought | |
| I' m a FED like Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms | |
| Willy gank, spit the killer dank dialogue | |
| Pyromaniac like Dr. Molotov | |
| I knock the bottle off | |
| And knock the model off | |
| Gots some nonbelievers here | |
| Some how I' ll save y' all | |
| Or stop y' all worries, you makin me vexed | |
| Hit up gekko, this ain' t got gold correct | |
| I' ll fucking bounty hunt your body like I' m Boba Fett | |
| Cause you a toy not a soldier yet | |
| You better hold your neck | |
| You dick smokers get no respect | |
| With the blood, ice your watch, rock your rocks | |
| Better rock it on the screen and not the blocks | |
| Cuz them crews don' t stop them shots | |
| It' s so many that fly, they chase down, I just stop and watch | |
| I' m from the south side of philly, it' s known to get gruesome | |
| Heavy hitter villians these alleyways produce them | |
| Heavy hitter on a pocket we find a way to juice them | |
| They may as well pay, schmuck | |
| Introducing the Bto LA see me the king splitter | |
| Then analyze this dime, the main thing glitter | |
| Then analyze the taste in your mouth, it seem bitter | |
| Ganster, valid dick torian, graduate of I dare you | |
| If you are paper thin I' m a tear you | |
| I' m a come take care of you put a part in your hairdo | |
| You barking like I' m a starting to scare you | |
| But speak up like a man nigga so your body guards can hear you |