de la soul – Potholes In My Lawn scritto da admin 21 Gennaio 2016 (Yo, something’s wrong here. No, not again!) (Get the daisies for the…) Potholes in my lawn DOVE: Everybody’s sayin’ What to do when suckin’ lunatics start diggin’ and chewin’ They don’t know that the Soul don’t go for that Potholes in my lawn And that goes for my rhyme sheet Which I concentrated so hard on, see I don’t ask for maximum security But my dwellin’ is swellin’ It nipped my bud when I happened to fall Into a spot Where no ink or an ink-blot Was on a scroll I just wrote me a new ‘mot’ But now it’s gone There’s no Suckers knew that I hate To recognise that every time I’m writin’ It’s gone (Yodel-a-hee, Yodel-oh-hee, Yodel-a) (Yodel-a-hee, Yodel-oh-hee, Yodel-ee-hee-hee-hee) Potholes in my lawn POS: I’ve found that it’s not wise To leave my garden untended ‘Cause eyes have now pardoned all laws of privacy Even paws are after my writer See, I’ve found that everyone’s sayin’ What to do when suckers are preyin’ On my well-guarded spreadsheets Oh why, hell does it send up fleets Of evil-doers through the big hole To get to evil-doers who dig holes Which leaves my lawn with lawn-chew I think I’d better plant traces to give clues Or better yet call 911 And when they get here I inform them I’m the Plug One Open a chair and let them realize the reason For concern of the Soul, ‘Cause we’ve come down with a case of potholes (Yodel-a-hee, Yodel-oh-hee, Yodel-a) (Yodel-a-hee, Yodel-oh-hee, Yodel-ee-hee-hee-hee) Potholes in my lawn (Who stole, who stole, who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?) DOVE: Now you got the message What to do when you die The death that I predict in ‘Plug Tunin’ It’s a shame that you deny to claim That you stole my words of fame That I wrote in my rhyme sheet Which I concentrated so hard on, see I don’t ask for a barbed wire fence, B But my dwellin’ is swellin’ It nipped my bud when I happened to fall Into a spot Where no ink or an ink-blot Was on a scroll I just wrote me a new ‘mot’ But now it’s gone there’s no Suckers knew that I hate To recoginse that every time I’m writin’ It’s gone Potholes in my lawn (Yodel-a-hee, Yodel-oh-hee, Yodel-a) (Yodel-a-hee, Yodel-oh-hee, Yodel-ee-hee-hee-hee)