The Pharcyde

The Pharcyde - Drop lyrics

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Let me freak the funk,
 obsolete is the punk that talk more junk than Sanford sells
 I jet propel at a rate that complice their mental state
 as I invade their masquerade
 they couldn't fade with a clipper blade
 10 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 mc's with doubt
 of exceeding, my name is Bottie 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 O.E.
 they have no key, or no clue
 to the game at all, now they washed up
 hung out to dry
 standing looking stpud, 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 exisitng in a fantasy when holding the steel

 Slim Kid 3:

 rock a bye baby,
 listen to my heart pumping to a fine ravine
 of all things it's a vain of a shrine
 all missions impossible are possible, cause I'm
 heading for a new sector 365 days fron now, I'll
 wipe the sweat from my brow
 and each and every true will stick, or fall from the sky of my cloud nine
 from homies all the way to chics, no matter how fine
 cotrolling 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 worlds at a stand-still
 deep in broken mansville, trapped in the moat with an avil, still
 killing yourself, and dogging ya health
 you ain't amphibious, so grab a hold of yourself

 Knumbskull #1:

 shit is-shit is ill, my flow still will spill
 toxic slick to shock you sick like electrocute
 when I execute, acutely over the rythym
 on those that pollute, extra dosages is what I gotta give em
 got em mad and tremblin
 cause I been up in my lad assemblin
 misslies, 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 swollow, 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 going to make a million
Get this song at:
bol.com
amazon.com

Copyrights:

Author: Emandu Wilcox, James Yancey, Romye Robinson, Tre Hardson

Composer: ?

Publisher: Delicious Vinyl, LLC

Details:

Released in: 1995

Language: English

Appearing on: Labcabincalifornia (1995) , Cydeways (2001)

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