The Dig - People Under The Stairs

I got more beats… you know there’s no one finer…

You know there’s no one finer… motherfucker…

I know a lot of spots that I ain’t putting you up on…

You know there’s no one finer… you know there’s…

Digging in the crate

All the time

Digging in the crate

Right on!

(x2)

We got forty crates, black plates, rare grooves, breaks

No 78's, Vietnam era United States

American funk, private label on major turntables

Sunken treasures that’s in the 4/4 measures

Now life’s only pleasures is digging, I do it often

So when I die, don’t cry, put my records in a coffin

And bury me next to a very big tree with my MPC

So they won’t warp, as a corpse, remember me

As a daily beat digger that figured out better ways

Of tracking down vinyl, like working at Rhino in the good old days

When the pay came, raised the notch, new spots

Friends with owners, under counters, digging through the new box

45 shoebox to understock rock, records before gas

Wood and glass, fuck it, I’ll walk for weeks

And sacrifice heats, looking for beats that coalesce

With chronic, like this here 45 on Microtronics

New spots, harmonic to sonic, enhance my life

My records are my children, my ancestors, and my wife

They’re there for me, carefully picked and never bit

My record karma stays stronger than the record by the Biz

I known places you don’t, did places you won’t

Yo, fuck a loop-digger in my city, man, just stay home

You see me by a pay phone on Normandie and King

Don’t wonder why as you drive by, I’m doing one thing

Head down, studying my music like Schroeder

Daily digging dust missions wearing out my motor

Fingers full of warts, back aching, arch support failing

Two hours to a new spot, fuck it, we still bailing

In my ride, digging worldwide, bringing heritage home

Reconnaissance, innosense, Renaissance elements

Evidence of long lost musical intelligence, big-picture relevance

Digging in the crate (scratched and repeated)

The only way my life makes sense

I’m two weeks late paying my rent

I’m digging out the past and the present

And now my fucking money’s being spent

The only way my life makes sense

I’m two weeks late paying my rent

I’m digging out the past and the present

The only way my life makes sense

(Check it out…)

I get my records insured before the life coverage

Up in my room all day, y’all say I’m on some other shit

Digging through the blue, grey, yellow, and green crates

Like I’ve never done it before, got records scattered on the floor

Got records hanging on the wall and in my bathroom, too

Got stacks up in the hallway, let me put this another way

Yo, I don’t give a record dealer nothing but cold cash

And a hard time, pats on my back, ‘cause now I’m doing fine

Vinyl is like food, fool, I need it to live

My fingertips been touching wax since I was a small kid

And ever since I been a big Double, it’s kinda bad

I sit and just listen to all the money that I had

I drop ten on some smoke, you know where the rest goes

More money to listen to, never dressing for the hoes

Fuck clothes, DVD, or holiday and real estate, relationships and bullshit

Ay-yo, I’m digging through the (Crates)

Digging for shit… then I’m going back

(repeated and scratched)

(Ha! Hey, Thes, we cooling out right here, boy… yeah… … hey, alright, aw,

fuck it, man, I’ve seen it all, it don’t matter, man, it ain’t worth it,

it’s all good… aw, what’s that right there?

Ha ha!

That’s why I’m going

digging, man!?

no more…

You remember in Cali when I grabbed one of your… we threw ‘em up, yo,

we was in Hollywood, right?

We’s in Hollywood, I grabbed him up,

you took his gold, he ain’t do nothing, we still got the gold to this day

We taxed the kid!

Yo, man, I ain’t never been…

We taxed him…

We gonna tax him again

And again

So just keep your mouth closed

I ain’t never been taxed before