lirik lagu dirty diggers – that’s why
[intro]
yes, yes, tommy c, run that
ahhh, that’s the sound of the summertime
[verse 1: young max]
i’ve got no time for kiss and tell
or reminiscing about the well~wishing, fish in the wishing well
i feel to speak truth, if they don’t listen, yell
i often feel to christen this condition, livin’ h~ll
consider scholar sitting, spitting in a prison cell
i see a screw face (what?), i stop to wish him well
i equate great living, with straight crate digging
never been a fake villain, finally with my mates chilling
give me a sunny day, joking with a funny brain
some rum, a takeaway, a bun, a lower rate to pay
somewhere away, away, for all the cops to stay
there’s one other thing, that i really got to say
speak to me decently, i’ll freak out less frequently
just recently, the beast in me’s increasingly eating me
i seek scenery, screen me in greenery
i want to write rhymes, in a place where no one’s mean to me
[chorus]
we sink jars till we drink the bar dry
put ink to the page, then we stare to the stars in the sky (da~da~da~da~da~da, hey you know why, yeah yeah, the diggers are so fly yeah)
we sink jars till we drink the bar dry
put ink to the page, then we stare to the stars in the sky (yeah, yeah)
[verse 2: pat stash]
check it out now, yo, yo
i lost my voice this year, but now i found it
paid my dues and past pounded and now i stay grounded
and take each day at a time, and i’m out for the lime~
light nose, to the grindstone in every rhyme
rise early, feeling good
head to the beach, my prize is the city
now there’s something fresh in my speech
you can see that, rhythm in my feet
hit crates for the beats
now i’ve got mates to meet, it’s plain to see
that i’m a fiend for that crackly plastic
professional fat sh~t
and what i practice, is fantastic
something that the fake can’t manage
me and the mic, is something like a perfect marriage
l!ck my mates for a pint, and the stress gets laughed away
life’s so hard today, it’s hard to say
i’m not a thug, i’m a thinker
rap for the winter, the malt whiskey drinker
fat stash
[chorus]
we sink jars till we drink the bar dry
put ink to the page, then we stare to the stars in the sky (da~da~da~da~da~da, hey you know why, yeah yeah, the diggers are so fly yeah)
we sink jars till we drink the bar dry
put ink to the page, then we stare to the stars in the sky (yeah, yeah)
[verse 3: young max]
i need cash for the rent, and just a little understanding
i don’t know where it went, the last b~st~rd’s standing
show me what needs doing, i’ll be glad to throw a hand in
and get down the front, till the whole jam’s crammed in
hot like coffee on a day, when it’s proper cold
show me the rainbow, you can keep the pot of gold
just another broken hearted, spoken word artist
you can’t save the world, for the cash to get started
the self~hating marxist, who digs down the market
one way to dark it, it starts when we start it
give me the sound of thousands, out in the streets
spent a day in my yard, so i can shout and make beats
ever been told a lie, that left you with the worst taste?
you knew from the start, you were right in the first place
show me some love, if your lifestyle’s dirt~based
show me some more, if you steal from your workplace
[chorus]
we sink jars till we drink the bar dry
put ink to the page, then we stare to the stars in the sky (da~da~da~da~da~da, hey you know why, yeah yeah, the diggers are so fly yeah)
we sink jars till we drink the bar dry
put ink to the page, then we stare to the stars in the sky (yeah, yeah)
[verse 4: pat stash]
p.s. scholar rap, you get me, yo
and even if the venue’s empty (never), as long as you’re friendly
we can all share and there’s plenty (so much)
and just for a minute i can feel free, so you can feel me
and i’m feeling you too (see?)
mine’s a beer, while you’re waiting in line (safe!)
and we can shoot the breeze, and then smoke trees, when it’s closing time
this goes out to all the beat heads and breakers
to all my writers now, buzzing off the vapours
9~5, is trying to clock up your papers
friends and haters, chasing pat stash arrangements
a shout out to stratford and layton
f.g. wolf and stoke east end, it’s blatant[?]
since ’97, sydney wrote the bas~m~nt
lo~fi, tape deck, styles was ancient
record the beat, from one side to another
a big shout out to my mum and my little brother
[chorus]
we sink jars till we drink the bar dry
put ink to the page, then we stare to the stars in the sky (da~da~da~da~da~da, hey you know why, yeah yeah, the diggers are so fly yeah)
[outro]
we sink jars till we drink the bar dry
put ink to the page, then we stare to the stars in the sky
we sink jars till we drink the bar dry
put ink to the page, then we stare to the stars in the sky (da~da~da~da~da~da, hey you know why, yeah yeah, the diggers are so fly yeah)
ahaha, peace!
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