Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Simon Says, artist - Pharoahe Monch. Album song Simon Says, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 18.10.1999
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Trescadecaphobia
Simon Says |
Get the fuck up |
Simon says, "Get the fuck up" |
Throw your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo) |
Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up? |
Girls, rub on your titties |
Yeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties |
New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty |
In the midst of the calm, the witty |
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 the fuck up |
Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name |
Ass out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game |
I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards |
Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder |
Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill |
Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill |
Stay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill |
Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real |
What the fuck's going on here? |
Just a minute now, hold up |
Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up |
When I'm in a cinematography state of mind |
My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme |
Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular |
Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate |
Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll out-box you |
Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor |
Oww! |
Fellas, pull your 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 nigga-y twenty-one gun salute |
That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls |
Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls |
How's that? |
Fat action packed rap remain tame |
Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed |
Yo, yo, get the fuck up |
Funk Doctor Spock said, "Get the fuck up" |
I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her |
I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler |
Snuff her, then my boys follow up |
Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee) |
I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up |
I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus |
Karat cut, yeah mami, pull over |
I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga |
I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me |
Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me |
I need fifty feet when my performance starts |
I push an armored car with Lowenharts |
Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts |
Doc turning dark off a warning shot |
Drive off and pop, six in your hood |
Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods |
Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over |
I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders |
Yeah, get the fuck up |
Simon says, "Get the fuck up" |
Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo) |
Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up? |
Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah) |
That's right, I said it, rub on your titties |
Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty |
In the midst of the calm, the witty |
Yo, yo, get the fuck up |
Yo, yeah, I said it, "Get the fuck up" |
Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up |
Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up |
You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what? |
We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what? |
Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold |
And you and your mic can ease on down the road |
Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one |
Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun |
Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one |
Fifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion |
Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion |
You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin' |
Here's a Tunnel banger |
Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber |
This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you |
Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you |
Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me |
Even if time stands still, I'mma still be |
Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky |
Innocent until I'm proven guilty |
Never got caught in the game of tag |
Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad |
No justice, raider ruckus |
Underground 'til we under ground |
But y'all first, motherfuckers |
My thugs, throw up your set |
And shorties rub on your breasts |
Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits |
You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs |
I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips |
Double-S, double the threat, double your bet |
Double up on that cash if you decide to invest |
You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D |
And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me |
Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete |
Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique |
I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat |
Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam |
So toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link |
Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link |
You froze up, Sahdeeq says, "Shut the fuck up" |
Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up |
Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan |
Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin' |
Lay it over, another ambush and take over |
Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over |
You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night |
Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website |
Yo, if you ever violate my space |
Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga |
Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some |
Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion |
Bitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it |
Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets |
Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends |
Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends |
Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o |
The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do) |
Enough substance in the roughness |
Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance |
Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend |
Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem |
Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America |
Let us control and own the fucking area |
Wilding in your whip until you crash the whole truck up |
And if you know what's good for you, nigga |
You better get the fuck up |