Music Video

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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
De La Soul
De La Soul
Vocals
Prince Paul
Prince Paul
Vocals
Bobby Simmons
Bobby Simmons
Vocals
Jarobi White
Jarobi White
Vocals
Jennette
Jennette
Vocals
Maseo
Maseo
Vocals
Posdnuos
Posdnuos
Vocals
Squirrel
Squirrel
Vocals
Trugoy the Dove
Trugoy the Dove
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Kelvin Mercer
Kelvin Mercer
Songwriter
David Jude Jolicoeur
David Jude Jolicoeur
Songwriter
Vincent Mason
Vincent Mason
Songwriter
Paul Huston
Paul Huston
Songwriter
Al Goodhart
Al Goodhart
Songwriter
Al Hoffman
Al Hoffman
Songwriter
B. Birthright
B. Birthright
Songwriter
Herbert Magidson
Herbert Magidson
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
De La Soul
De La Soul
Producer
Prince Paul
Prince Paul
Producer
Michael Fossenkemper
Michael Fossenkemper
Mastering Engineer
Scotty Hard
Scotty Hard
Mixing Engineer
Tom Coyne
Tom Coyne
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

Yo, gee Yo, word up, gee, man Yo, man you heard about that club called the Donut Hill, B? Yeah, man, I heard it's kinda fly, man Yo man, Rakim and De La be up there all the time! Word up! Yo, De La? Yo, those punk kids, man? They ain't punks, man Yo man, those kids are wack man, straight up booty, wack Yo, man but, yo, that "Buddy", that was kind of fly, man, And "Potholes?" Slammin'. Slammin' Yeah, it was. Word up, yo it was, but forget that man, After they came out with "Plug One, Plug Two" then "Potholes", Yo then they fell off with the brothers, Yes they did man, yo, they were straight up pop, man, I'm telling you, forget them faggots Yo check it out B, though, WRMS is throwin' a party at the club though, man, Yo I bet you they'll be there! Yeah! All right, so let the brothers show up, man, Let them brothers be there, I'mma cold jack one of them niggas, run up on them! (Background:) (Pease porridge in the pot) (Pease porridge in the pot) (Pease porridge in the pot) (Nine days old) My name, my name, my name is the Pasta Now I like, I like I like to plug the real thing So loo, so loose, so loose with the tap dance The funk, the funk, funky funky stuff I bring My tribe, my tribe, my tribe is known as Native Tongues Consis, consists, consists of Jungle, Quest and others Get played, were played, played a lot on radio And also, and also, and also by some foul brothers The Pea, the Pease the Pease Porridge never failed It kept, it kept, it kept us calm, our stylin' merry But late, but lately loonies acting real bold Can't sip in luxury my apple cranberry Girls watch, and watch, and watch me dance the King Tut Our home, our home our homeboys has to plan tricks Don't real, don't real, don't realize the Native Tongue Is rollin' strong and we're startin' in the megamix Yo, Miss Thing! Yo Marisol, what's up? You heard what happened at the Donut Hill the other night? Yo yo I was there and those De La kids was fighting, Yo they was wildin' Word man? Word, the whole thing happened in front of my face, yo, They was on the dance floor, right, Some kids walked up to them and said something About hippies being punks, And the chubby one Plug Three? Yeah. Plug Three, yeah I know him All right, Plug Three, all right, He walked up to this kid, hit him real quick, Think he didn't when he did, And then them other kids the Jungle Brothers and Quest and, um, What's the other ones, the other ones? The Violators The Violators, right, right, throwing chairs, And they didn't care who they was hitting, you think they wasn't? Yeah. I know, I thought it was supposed to be about peace signs Things like that, you know what I mean?... Question, and that's if only I can ask this question Can I? (Yes you can!) Why do people think just because we speak peace We can't blow no joints? (I-I-I don't know) Mase, this is the ninth day I've reheated this porridge. You know it keeps me peacefully, no? Yeah, but my tolerance level has now peaked And now it's time for some heads to get flown We bring, we bring, we bring, we bring the peace of course But pack a nine inside, inside my De La drawers A pic, picture, picture, picture painted pink Could turn to re, to red, to red in blooded quick But in a single file my Native Tongue is calm I'd ra, I'd rather bless a brother pound of palm With e, with ease I kick a verse of unity And shack, and shackle steps to the beat, beat I click, I click the TV to The Simpsons And sip the Porridge deep into my system So mel, so mellow mode is my day mode Inside the studio or on a road The Shwing, the Shwingalo is the now step It's murder if you bet cause you're life's jep To praise, to praise the Soul is on a down drag It's false, because I'll spray you with the Black Flag (Pease Porridge in the pot) (Pease Porridge in the pot) (Pease Porridge in the pot) (Nine days old) (Pease Porridge in the pot) (Pease Porridge in the pot) (Pease Porridge in the pot) (Nine days old) Can't stand, can't stand, can't stand the pop music Brother, brother, brothers pop a lot of cow Don't watch, don't watch, don't watch a lot of basketball Don't und, don't understand the act of being foul Hey D, hey D, hey DJ set the record up It's time, it's time, it's time to tame the naughty pups Throw on the Touching Fingers serenade So we can throw our lemonade In their face and kick their little butts And they're off, And Mase is the first to throw a punch And he connects lovely to the rib cage. Wouldn't you say so Squirrel? Indeed, indeed, I would say he showed a lot of form in that combination, But look at the hoodlum trying to escape Yeah, it seems that that particular hoodlum Showed great form in trying to escape, But he, ah, just got his ass busted (Background:) (Touching fingers, touch, touch) (One at a time, touch together) People wanna get ragged with the reruns Me not, me not, me not scared to trudge a bit They can't, they can't, they can't get close to none I tap, I tap, I tap a dance war skit The por, the por, the Porridge got crazy cold We won't, we won't eat until the heads are flown Take advantage to a cool one's peaceful ways But when, but when we fly that head all the people say Here in Frogland, we always eat our Porridge, Cause it keeps us frogs real peaceful like In my land, my people adore Porridge. And I don't understand why De La Soul is so violent, And we are so peaceful, We sit by the campfire and listen to our rituals, And they are so violent. I don't understand, I don't understand (Pease Porridge in the pot) (Pease Porridge in the pot) (Pease porridge in the pot) (Nine days old) (Pease Porridge in the pot) (Pease porridge in the pot) (Pease Porridge in the pot) (Nine days old) (Pease Porridge in the pot)
Writer(s): Paul E Huston, David Jolicoeur, Kelvin Mercer, Vincent L Mason, Brian Birthright, A Hoffman, H Magids, A Goodhart, Vincent Lamont Jr. Mason Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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