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Yo I’m from Ella, Cella Vison at ya, tuning to my Figured ya, figured ya, Microphone to mobile, Holdin’ mike just so while I be just day-dreamin’ Drop like, 9 months and rock Backyard to fronts Who wants to live the gutter life We got sidewalks to walk, baby I need a chick with big potatoes to mash, baby Hang like parachutes, I’ve been floatin’ for years We went from rappin’ in cars to rappin’ careers One dear, two dear, I got gift like Santa Go from NY to DC and down to Atlanta Make ya fly like propellers, we beat it down in the cella Well, I guess you call it “basement”, ‘Cause that’s where all the bass went When we turn it up a notch, old school Like Ed Koch Toss my foot up in the air (whoooooo), And grab my crotch Who am I? “Michael” Keep your music on the cycle So we can finish and flow within your ‘fro Word out Word out.
This is called, uh, frozen style Chatter your teeth style Freeze like the artic style, y’all
I’m the p to the o to the s Known to pinpoint a flow to the chest So wear your vest, Nibble the thighs and breast on Vanessa Had to sneak it cause her moms Kept me under pressure (word)
Now as the sun appears to rise and set Some cats live for the ‘hood ‘Cause that’s as good as it gets But my plot is much thicker, I move it much quicker (word) Three-hundred and sixty miles to the p h
So I’m balanced, Not a fella to fall Connecting the dots, I got two propellers in all Went from ghetto To the mettle Seen all degrees of hot, And froze when I was not Like Lot, my lady threw salt in the game Invest the cheese in the mouse who said: “Walk into fame” Now you hear my name being screamed on the ride of life It’s too late to get off, To get off
We in the house y’all! We in the house y’all! We about to get evicted, There ain’t no lights or liquid The bills ain’t paid and Last week we had a raid Cause we partied too much But that’s my family’s trade Invited all of my folks, And yo all my folks stayed! They tried to silence our shit, But we just pushed up the fade Sat back and charged a dollar a head And got paid And called on the band and got stupid When the keyboard played
(It’s party time, word out, word out yeah we got party goin’ on here, y’all)
Keeping funky with the Propellerheads y’all
Now listen You see, I’m here to usher the pain with no relief But still get the "Great Scotts, are you a thief? " "Seems like you got a mouth full of gold.." records Sorry for that, platinum plaque soon to come ‘Till then propeller got me working the drum For a fee So notify the foe looking for the fumble I hear you want to rumble on the mic, So check it out How you want it, I got it Oh yeah!
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