drop
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
drop
slimkid
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
imani
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
drop
Artist: The Pharcyde
Year: 1996
Decade: 90s
Language: en
Word Count: 247