360 (Oh Yeah) Lyrics

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?
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

Uh-huh, Uh-huh, Uh-huh, Uh-huh, Uh-huh, Uh-huh, Uh-huh,

Come on

Check it out

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
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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