Lirik Lagu Simon Says Remix - Pharoahe Monch
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[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 tittiesNew York City gritty committee, pity the fool that act shittyIn 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 upI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck upAct like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked upPull the truck up, Luck you know the nameAssed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the gameI suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowardsKnow your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powderSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chillCome four by four, lose one like Dru HillStay fly till you air sick, now that's illTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real
[Pharoahe Monch]WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold upSinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll upWhen I'm, ? cinematography state of mindMy rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhymeShit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacularMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the ImmaculateBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box yaLadies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floorOWWW! Fellas pull ya cock outOn the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock outUh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappersDust crush competition, lights out like the ClapperThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slaveSeparate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behaveNow, drag his ass, bag dun for his lootFigure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun saluteThat's seven shots for TupacSeven for Biggie SmallsSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood mallsHow's that, fat action pack
[Lady Luck]Yo SHUT THE FUCK UP!Luck said "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"Bitches in the back, like crack get it cut upI speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck upAct like a man and get cocked, smacked or fucked upPull the truck up, Luck you know the nameAssed out in the bleachers stay shittin on the gameI suppose what you're spittin is flames, cowardsKnow your crew was vaginal, I could smell the dooch powderSummer's Eve, I drop degrees chillCome four by four, lose one like Dru HillStay fly till you air sick, now that's illTwo choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real
[Pharoahe Monch]WHAT THE FUCK'S goin on here, just a minute now, hold upSinister wit hit the time I diminish him finish him, roll upWhen I'm, ? cinematography state of mindMy rap trip, rip, clip, say the rhymeShit, I spectacular run hit spit bitches venacularMiraculous rhyme flow, back track to the ImmaculateBinaca blast nigga that's fast, son I'll box yaLadies rub the ta-ta's, bras, titties and knockers on the floorOWWW! Fellas pull ya cock outOn the verge to splurge verbs for third round knock outUh I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappersDust crush competition, lights out like the ClapperThe mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slaveSeparate him from him from his fam, he don't know how to behaveNow, drag his ass, bag dun for his lootFigure me to give a nigger-y twenty-one gun saluteThat's seven shots for TupacSeven for Biggie SmallsSeven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood mallsHow's that, fat action pack
