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letra de bullshit - the pharcyde

[production by j dilla]

[hook]
you gotta get on up off of that bullsh-t, stop fighting that feeling
you gotta get on up off of that bullsh-t, stop fighting that feeling
you gotta get on up off of that bullsh-t, stop fighting that feeling
you gotta get on up off of that bullsh-t, stop fighting that feeling

[verse 1: imani]
let me entertain you
and interphase you, with the new sound
sound is the side and the phar is the cyde
and no matter who you are, you know you can’t hide
not from the eyes of the sun or the moon or the stars
no matter who you are (da-na-na-na)
come in, and commence to the sound of my drumming

[verse 2: slimkid3]
time to go all the way with it
don’t just sit there and stare or play with it
cause we’re committed to the seeds of the new breeds
the mothership of dreams where fiends breast feed
step through reality into reality
so surreal you’ll feel you never knew reality
until it stood still now your far from a lie
when the truth tantalizes your eyes, see we already in the skies
or outer sp-ce, standing here on the face of this earth
to the state to the grid of my turf
where my mom gave birth
to all that she loves
be it small to others, but yo, it’s bigger than love
they did a cross examination of it
but you can’t duplicate the state of our relations through translations
that’s not the ticket
breaking codes in heiroglyphics
trying to get down to the specifics

[verse 3: bootie brown]
yo, when money talks fools are always checkin’
depositing their two cents
foolishly convinced, blinded by their ignorance
that becomes a hinderance for them to rise
when they going to recognize, time waits for no man
when you going to stand and
get up off of that bullsh-t, and stop fighting that feeling?

[verse 4: suave]
now let me change the topic just a bit
talk about the ips with the fat -ss and t-ts
comin’ to the club, looking for a star
ain’t got ten dollars for a drink at the bar
scoping around, looking for the best dressed
smelling for the indo p-ssing up the stress
sniff sniff, yo, what does the ip smell?
a brother like suave with a pocket that swell
action was thrown, the ip was blown
next thing you know, i had her at my home!
all alone, object to get paid
only thing that happened was a -ss got laid!
now no ends and her -ss was sprung
used a little tongue, but believe i’m well hung
so lesson well learned for all you club hopping hoes
it ain’t about the stardom and it ain’t about the dough, so

- the pharcyde

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