PHILLY'S MOST WANTED


Please Don't Mind Lyrics

You could turn the mic down a lil' bit
C'mon, with the hands, yeah see
[both talking]

[Boobonic]
Excuse me bitch what's your name
Couple dollars ain't it so what's your game
Known fact cause I'm gettin' the cash
Don't dance face to face, bitch gimme the ass
I'll help you out if you had a long day
Dick like, good advice, it could go a long way
Front, cause I knocked cha'll down
I could remodel homes, I knock walls down
I'm wit all, that shit y'all
Talk about, oh what I don't hit raw
Naw, you could flow like a bank hold up
Have I ever loved a chick lemme think, hold up
No, I'm all about the dough
He shouldn't give a f**k if it's not your hoe
Oh, that hatin' shit you did, ain't done us
Playas and we get more head then new hundreds

[Chorus]
Please don't mind, how I pursue
Don't take it personal girl it's how thugs do
Let's get fly, sit for a few
And after that let's go I'm f**king you

[Mr.]
Yo, let me tell you how I pursue
Spit game in they ear, and it's proper too
Say we stayin' at the Fount with Blue
I'ma ball every day, spend a grand or two (psyche)
Hit the beach, forget the sheets
Get it down right there, chick touch your feet
Loc roll, that's so much game
Y'all think y'all know my aim
That's a joke like Marlon Wayans, lame
And it ain't got no change
Chick listen up, want dick or what?
Take that, that's the only thing I'm givin' up
Only sent, it's the dream that your 'gone get
Hit for free, then Boo 'gone hit
No they not like M-O dot
I hit, touch base, and ball like White Sox

[Chorus - 2x]

[Boobonic]
Look around dawg, what you see nigga
Whole lotta model bitches then me nigga
Me and Don in a drop and this pearl
Withchu so sick make niggas wanna hurl
Do it look like I care that's your girl?
She diggin' me, and love that I'm all the way ferl
You talkin' shit, don't concern her
If I f**kin' go, hit more bitches than Ike Turner

[Mr.]
I send 'em home in the cab to tell
I play 'em more high notes than Patti LaBelle (plus)
You gel, heavywear at (and)
Got ice and your bezie wear that
Y'all doozers are strictly losers
We 'gone blow bright like bulbs and fuses
Tell your man he better slow his role
Our guns'll make James Brown lose his soul

[Chorus - 4x]

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Songwriter(s): Al Basser Holly, Joel Louis Witherspoon, Chad Hugo, Pharrell Williams
Publisher(s): Chaserayn Music Publishing LLC, Main Money Publishing, Emi Blackwood Music Inc., Songs For Beans, Warner-tamerlane Publishing Corp.
Record Label(s): 2001 Atlantic Recording Corporation for the United States and WEA International Inc for the world outside of the United States
Official lyrics by

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