Pullya Pantsup
©2015 Tom Arnold / Deadbeat Music

I turned 35 late last week
I gotta admit things look bleak
I got a dead end job, a wife and three kids
All I got to show is my dance club threads

So I’m walkin’ real slow on a downtown street
Shuffle my iPod, find me a beat
Some fine Jay Z or 50 Cent
When a dime street ho starts breaking my head

Pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup
I’m talking to you
Pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup
You’re not that cool
Pullya pantsup, pullya pant up, pullya pantsup
You look like a fool
Pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup.
Pantsup

My eyes went wide, what the Hell is this
Some misguided farmer, thinks he’s hip?
Tellin’ me here on my own home street
My low riding pants are indiscreet

I got a dead end job, a wife and three kids
And now I gotta suffer something like this
The music that gives my life a few perks
Reduced to drivel, co-opted by jerks

Chorus

Listen you dudes, don’t mess with my threads
If I went that straight, I’d sooner be dead
Life’s hard enough just earning some bread
Without jive talkin’ mommies pounding in my head

Please don’t mess with this man on the street
When this bro’s walkin’ slow and I shuffle a beat
Keep your mind wide open, show me respect
Leave off that pullya pantsup shit

Pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup
You be thinkin’ you hip?
Pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup
You be takin’ a trip
Pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup
Would you button your lip?
Pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup, pullya pantsup
Pantsup