[Pharoahe Monch]
GET THE FUCK UP!
Simon says "GET THE FUCK UP!"
Throw ya hands in the sky (buck buck buck buck buck!)
Queens is in the back sippin 'Gnac, y'all wassup?
Girls, rub on your titties (yeah)
Yeah fuck it I said it rub on ya titties
New York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shitty
In the midst of the calm, the witty
[Lady Luck]
Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Luck said "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut up
I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up
Act like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked up
Pull the truck up, Luck you know the name
Assed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the game
I suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowards
Know your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powder
Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill
Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill
Stay fly till you air sick, now that's ill
Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real
[Pharoahe Monch]
WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold up
Sinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll up
When I'm, ? cinematography state of mind
My rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhyme
Shit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacular
Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the Immaculate
Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box ya
Ladies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floor
OWWW! Fellas pull ya cock out
On the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock out
Uh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers
Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper
The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave
Separate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behave
Now, drag his ass, bag dun for his loot
Figure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun salute
That's seven shots for Tupac
Seven for Biggie Smalls
Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls
How's that, fat action pack
