Listen to Patti Dooke (feat. Guru, Maceo Parker, Fred Wesley & Pee Wee Ellis) by De La Soul

Patti Dooke (feat. Guru, Maceo Parker, Fred Wesley & Pee Wee Ellis)

De La Soul

Hip-Hop/Rap

Apple Music Note

OVERVIEW

LYRICS

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS

Frank Wess

Flute

Fred Wesley

Trombone

Guru

Vocals

Larry Goldings

Organ

Maceo Parker

Saxophone

Maseo

Vocals

Melvin Parker

Drums

Milt Jackson

Sampled Artist

Pee Wee Ellis

Saxophone

Posdnuos

Vocals

Rodney Jones

Bass

Trugoy the Dove

Trugoy the Dove

Vocals

COMPOSITION & LYRICS

Kelvin Mercer

Lyrics

David Jude Jolicoeur

David Jude Jolicoeur

Lyrics

Vincent Mason

Songwriter

Paul Huston

Composer

Scott M Sterling

Scott M Sterling

Composer

Lawrence Parker

Lawrence Parker

Composer

PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING

De La Soul

Producer

Prince Paul

Producer

Bob Power

Mixing Engineer

Tim Latham

Recording Engineer

Patrick Derivaz

Patrick Derivaz

Additional Engineer

Gerard Julien

Assistant Engineer

Brad Schmidt

Assistant Engineer

Ken Quartarone

Assistant Engineer

Mikael Ifversen

Mikael Ifversen

Assistant Engineer

Brian Sperber

Assistant Engineer

Eric Gast

Assistant Engineer

Hoover Le

Assistant Engineer

Scotty Hard

Mixing Engineer

Chris Flam

Assistant Engineer

Howard Kessler

Mastering Engineer

Joe Warda

Assistant Engineer

Tom Coyne

Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

Why do we have to cross over?

Why are **** always crossing over something, huh?

And what's the matter, huh?

They can accept our music as long as they can't see our faces?

One, two, one, two, you got it

Runnin' through the trenches (What?)

Runnin' through the trenches (What?)

Runnin' through the trenches it's the Patti Dooke

It's the Patti what?

Runnin' through the trenches (Oh!)

Runnin' through the trenches it's the Patti Dooke

Runnin' through the trenches (What?)

Runnin' through the trenches (What?)

Runnin' through the trenches it's the Patti Dooke

It's the Patti what?

Runnin' through the trenches (Oh!)

Runnin' through the trenches it's the Patti Dooke

Just the other day I got a starter kit

An M is a terrible thing to waste

Caught the face from the backs of the border of the mindstate

I play control to a fraud

Nah, it ain't happenin'

Nada to make it even

Robbin' and thievin' is one who infiltrates with a Colgate frown

Y'all remember my nasal for I sniff frequencies

Well, it started in the year of '78

But it's '93 or should I say '94 for my style is much more

I said, "Come in”

Come in

Come on

Come out into my reservoir

As I macks a men your bastard style has just been stuck

By a sticker with a 'frigerator lickin'

What if? How's about why would?

Never thought that the napalm would bust your jeans

Mash it up

The one with the beard

Mega mustache the beat (Hide it)

Deep under sheets, cover this hint

Hostin' all threats but watch out Mr. Jarbage

Jimmy and the jet, standin' on the pier

I'm known as the farmer

Cultivatin' mate without mendin'

Bendin', compromising any of my styles to gain a smile

Listen while you hear it

There's no pink in my slip

I reckon that the rhythm and the blues in the rap got me red

While the boys from Tommy plant bridge crossin' to a larger community

Yet they're soon to see I have a brother named Luck

A **** named Dres

A groupie named Cassandra caught bobbin' on the head

Of a baby named Chris, I missed a kid who caught wreck when sayin'

Afrika and I when Sammy B's on the set

Runnin' through the trenches (Huh?)

Runnin' through the trenches (What?)

Runnin' through the trenches it's the Patti Dooke

It's the Patti what?

Runnin' through the trenches (Oh!)

Runnin' through the trenches it's the Patti Dooke

Prevention against sucka M.C.'s

Prevention against sucka M.C.'s

Prevention against sucka M.C.'s

And now, prevention against sucka M.C.'s

We decided to change the cover a little bit

Because we see the big picture

Negroes and white folks buyin' this album

Negroes and white folks buyin' this album

Everybody's gonna know who this group is

We just felt that the picture wasn't as important

As it was that we succeed in crossing over

Cross over ain't nuthin' but a double cross

Once we lose our audience we never gon' get them back

He may even try to change our sound

Let no man put a-sunder

Severin' the groups I never blunder

Cashin' all the checks on the mic

I might cherry to the bush, brand Plug One-der

Funk to the fame against hoods

Bridges saggin' to woods down un-der

They can't be raised with effeminate praise

In conjunction with no chocolate in the mix

White boy Roy cannot feel it

But the first to try and steal it

Dilute it, pollute it, kill it

I see him infiltratin' to the masses

And when they leechin', I'ma shoot 'em all in they asses

Runnin' through the trenches (What?)

Runnin' through the trenches (Yeah)

Runnin' through the trenches it's the Patti Dooke

It's the Patti what?

Runnin' through the trenches (Ah!)

Runnin' through the trenches it's the Patti Dooke

It might blow up but it won't go pop

It might blow up but it won't go pop

It might blow up but it won't go pop

It might blow up but it won't go pop

It might blow up but it won't go pop

It might blow up but it won't go pop

It might blow up but it won't go pop

It might blow up but it won't go pop

I shed light and not skin

I ain't from Europe

Afro connects at the root of the retina of the third

Mums the word when ya blind, baby

Blind to the fact

Don't rest in Compton so I don't own a gat

But respect is clear crystal

'Cause Millie got a pistol

And she's down with me

Wild of most wild

Born child to the old school legitimate (Soul)

Talker of the many paragraphs ago

Walker of the plenty broken calves ago

Phantom of the phrase black in many ways

'Cause I see her runnin' through the trenches

Comin' in to rent my style

I'm not the one to fuck with

I'm lockin' you out

I'm just not the one to fuck with, so check it

Yo, y'all don't know who I am?

Listen up, son

Peace to my man Premier

And y'all better guard your trenches cause we runnin' through 'em

Do it, fluid, mess up my mind

Do it, fluid, mess up my mind

Do it, fluid, mess up my mind

Do it, fluid, mess up my mind

Do it, fluid, mess up my mind

Do it, fluid, mess up my mind

Tell me somethin' huh?

How they never cross over to us, huh?

I never seen five **** on Elvis Presley's album cover!

Written by: David Jude Jolicoeur, Kelvin Mercer, Lawrence Parker, Paul Huston, Scott M Sterling, Vincent Mason

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