Pharoahe Monch – Simon Says

Download another hot old mp3 free audio song by Pharoahe Monch and this amazing music is titled “Simon Says”.

Actually this amazing music is popped out of an old album which is titled ‘Internal Affairs’ and it was released in the year 1999.

 

Music Video below!.

 

MP3 DOWNLOAD

 

Lyrics

 

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 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 knockout

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 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

Wild 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