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Drop Lyrics By The Pharcyde


    bootie brown
    let me freak the funk obsolete is the punk
    that talks more junk than sanford sells
    i jet propel at a rate that complicate their mental state
    as i invade their masquerade they couldn’t fade with a clipper blade
    0 years in the trade is not enough you can’t cut it
    i let you take a swing and you bunted for an easy out
    i leave emcees with doubt of exceeding
    my name is bootie brown and i’m proceeding leading
    they try to follow but they’re shallow and hollow
    i can see right through them like an empty 40 bottle of oe
    they have no key or no clue
    to the game at all now they washed up
    hung out to dry
    stand there looking stupid wondering why
    why man
    it was the fame that they tried to get
    now they walking around talkin’ about represent
    and keep it real but i got to appeal
    ’cause they existing in a fantasy when holding the steel


    rockabye baby
    listen to your heartbeat pumping to a fine
    ravine of all things it’s a vain of a shrine
    all missions impossible are possible ’cause i’m
    headed for a new sector 65
    days from now i’ll wipe the sweat from my eye
    and each and every true will stick or fall from the skies
    of my cloud nine
    from homies all the way to chicks no matter how fine
    controlling is a swollen way to wreck a proud mind
    you hold it in your hands and watch a man start crying
    tear after tear in the puppet man’s hands
    every time you take a stance you do the puppet man’s dance
    and the world’s at a standstill deep in brokenman’sville
    trapped in the moat with an anvil still
    killing yourself and dogging ya health
    you ain’t amphibious so grab a hold of yourself

    shit isshit is ill
    but through my will my flow still will spill
    toxic slick to shock sick like electrocute
    when i execute acutely over the rhythm
    on those that pollute extra dosages is what i gotta give ’em
    got ’em mad and tremblin’
    ’cause i been up in my lab assemblin’
    missiles to bomb the enemy
    because they envy me and the making of my mad currency
    currently i think we’re in a state of an emergency
    ’cause niggas done sold their souls and now their souls is hollow
    and i think they can’t follow
    they can’t swallow the truth because it hurts
    this is how i put it down this is my earth my turf
    the worth of my birth is a billion
    and you know what time it is i’m gonna make a million
    yeah you know what time is it
    yeah uh huh you know what time is it
    yeah uh huh you know what time is it
    yeah uh huh you know what time


    Artist: The Pharcyde

    Year: 1996

    Decade: 90s

    Language: en

    Word Count: 247