Propellerheads - 360 Degrees (Oh Yeah?) lyrics

Come on, yeah Yo, I'm from L A, cella; vison at ya, tuning to my Figured ya, figured ya; microphone, the mobile Holdin' mic just so while I be just day-dreamin' Drop like nine 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 ta rappin' careers One dear, two dear, I got the gift like Santa Go from N.Y. to D.C. 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 ba** went When we turn it up a notch; old school like Ed Koch Toss my foot up in the air (hoo), grab my crotch Who am I? Michael; keep the music on a 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 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 breasts on Vanessa Had to sneak it 'cause her mom's kept me under pressure (word) Now as the sun appears to rise and set Some cats live for the 'hood 'cause it's as good as it gets But my plot is much thicker (yep) 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 my sh** but we just pushed up the fade Sat back and charged a dolla' 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. Pa** me that drink over here.) 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 'Til then Propeller got me working the drum For a fee so notify the 5-0 looking for the fumble (oh) I hear you want to rumble on the mic so check it out How you want it, I got it Oh yeah