Teksty: Pharcyde, The. Illusions.

:
Yeah! What?

You know outside looking and the grass is greener,
Keeping up with the Joneses, got your pockets leaner,
Then Jimmy Dean making all the moves your making,
Yo do it in the burbs with the female shakin',
Your head banging on walls, making collect calls,
Like me and Melissa trying to keep in touch,
The same homies who used to hit up for lunch,
All the same ones keepin it cool in the crunch,

Movin ...
Movin up .. You got us trouble,
Movin up .. Don't be sure,
Movin up .. You cant just struggle, illusion.

Huh, damn now I gotta brand new Benz,
Damn so many brand new friends,
But, when I didn't have no Benz,
It was so new to frowning and those that get down,
You used to having everything sugar-coated,
Though you hear the radio up,
And take it with the arm and roast it up,
Hate when niggas be trying to act all hard,
When the cameras on,
When the lights go awefully soft like,
Lamps in the camera hair,
Pharcyde you wanna play it here and take you there,
You know the routine, you know the episode,
Take it green, take your whole team to,
A new city, gotta new clear summer now,
You can be whoever or whatever you wanna ... wanna ... wanna ...

Movin ...
Movin up .. You got us trouble
Movin up .. Don't be sure,
Movin up .. You cant just struggle, illusion.

Yo, What you see may not always be,
Every persons popularity and MTV,
You're nearly 26 minutes, a yacht in the sea,
hustling the streets, coming home at three,
But what about a nigger locked up with no plea,
Only seventeen dressed to a murder see,
Didn't make it he's a boy, he struggled for, he'll never see,
I felt hell and bad when his girl had a gawk at me,
Here's my supplyin' man, give it all to the D's and Feds,
I'm a do away the work will be in advance,
It was on consignment, so the city Feds,
So much shit is wrong that you wish you was dead,
On the escalator the heaven with the one night ticket,
You think you got the blues like Wilson Pickett,
You can't get it, cos you're hot in every hood,
Got hyped on the vein, but you misunderstood,
The lights and the shine, champagne, all the dimes,
Call the up Billy Connolly, get the Triptamine,
The cash and the clothes, fake fans, real coze,
Well placed, well timed, well played, real coze,

Get the bullshit outta my face
Get the bullshit outta my face, huh,
Get the bullshit outta my face
Get the bullshit outta my face

Ya, ya,
You need to stop sweating at the lot you got everything covered,
But you ain't really takin' care o'nothin',
You need to stop sweating and jokin' fella,
Stop using all them smoke and mirrors,
You need to focus,
Hell, please, don't make me laugh ...
Your style is fake as the man cuttin' a lady in half,
Huh, they use illusion as tryin' to be ellusive,
And don't just stay true,

Movin ...
Movin up .. You got us trouble
Movin up .. Don't be sure,
Movin up .. You cant just struggle, illusion.

Movin up ... Movin up ...