Must Be Bobby

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