De La Soul — 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?