Potholes in My Lawn (Live at Tramps, NYC, 1996)

[Intro: De La Soul]
Yo, something's wrong here
Y'all know this shit?
Get the daisies for the potholes in my lawn
Now let me hear you say potholes in my lawn, everybody
(Potholes in my lawn)
Now let me hear you say potholes in my lawn, everybody
(Potholes in my lawn)
Well, check it out

[Verse 1: Trugoy the Dave]
Now everybody's sayin'
What to do when sucker 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
Ayo, 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
'Cause those punks knew that I hate
To recognize that every time I'm writin', it's on

[Bridge: Posdnous & Trugoy the Dove]
Well, it's on, baby baby, it's on (Where's it at?)
Well, it's on, Harry Allen, it's on (Where's it at?)
Well, it's gone, y'all; well, it's gone
I'm talkin' 'bout the potholes in my lawn

[Verse 2: Posdnous]
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
Everyone's sayin'
What to do when suckers are preyin'
Upon my well-guarded spreadsheets
Oh why, hell does it send up fleets
Of evil-doers through the big hole
To get to evil-doer who be diggin' holes
Which leaves my lawn with the lawn-chew
I think I'd better plant traces to give clues
Or better yet call 9-1-1
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
Because we've come down with a case of potholes

[Bridge: Trugoy the Dove]
Yo, check it out
I hear that New York is the livest motherfuckers in the United States
Is that right?
Everybody, everybody, everybody in the house say "Yeah" (Yeah)
Say "Hell yeah" (Hell yeah)
Say "Yeah, yeah" (Yeah, yeah)
Old school

[Verse 3: Trugoy the Dove & (Posdnous)]
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 (Rhyme shit)
Which I concentrated so hard on, see (On, see)
I don't ask for no maximum security (Security)
Ayo, my dwellin' is swellin'
Nipped my bud every time I fell
Into a spot (To a spot)
Where no ink or an ink-blot
Was on my scroll (On a scroll)
I just wrote me a new 'mot'
But now it's gone
'Cause those punks knew that I hate
To recognize that every time we're writin'
It's gone

[Outro]
Word up
What's up, y'all?