I strive to be humble, lest I stumble never sold a jumbo
or copped chicken, wings with mumbo
sauce, Tyson is a fowl Holocaust
Hitler gas ya whole head up, with poultry I'm fed up
Ignore Cordon Bleu, stand up, get up!
Lunge for your knife, Don't forget your Potholders...



What, these old things? about to throw 'em away
with the gold rings that make 'em don't fit like O.J.
usually I take em off with oil-of-olay
emcees is crabs in a barrel, pass the Old Bay
hot as hell and it's a cold day in it
working on a way that we could roll away tinted
some say the price of holding heat is often too high
you either be in a coffin or you be the new guy
the one that's too fly to eat shoe pie
never too busy when it comes down to you and I
a lotta niggas wish to die
they need to hold they horses, there's bigger fish to fry
you're on the list, if not pick a number spot
ten and a half Timbs is made to kick ya bumbaclot
I coulda had a V-8/ F150 quad cab but I'll be straight
money comes n’ goes like that two-bit hussy
that night that tried to rush me
Dwight, pass the dutchie
so I can calm down so they don't get it twisted
take it from the fireside, it won't get blistered
got it - what happened? oh, it's not lit
these Metal Fingers be holding...



When I was four I penned “GOD Was Born In New York”
back in ‘77, still, got naan in a crescent
The effervescence of GOD'S presence is thick, unlike vapor
Esther Rolle, extra roll, word to the baker
Peace to the hard working gingerbread makers
“Looked her up and down, said hmm” too much makeup
poor music taste, ten years from being grown up
Rapper's don't blow up, heads do
My name is Dwight Spitz and I'm a sonic addict
I used to think it was mearly a nagging habit
Born under a bad sign, I'm serious about this curse of mine
I strive to flip it into fine wine
Barely born a virgin is what the stars said
Black not white, red all over though like Elmo
Twenty eight years have passed, I feel I'm peakin
I make music every weekend
It's a chore, a fact of life, a labor of love
I get mad love but I detest the labor and it's wages
you know death, I'm servin life from this gift of GOD
Don't forget your Potholders my niggas...


Lyrics submitted by Sociodemographic

Potholderz song meanings
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6 Comments

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  • +1
    Song MeaningPot Holders=Roach Clips
    theyre holding hot shit
    bfeldon March 29, 2009   Link
  • +1
    General CommentThe song title also has multiple meanings:

    1. The obvious definition of the potholder that's used to hold hot things.

    2. The slang for a potholder meaning a member of a rapper's group that holds illicit items to keep the heat off the guy making the money:

    "Some say the price of holding heat is often too high, you either be in a coffin or you be the new guy."
    pinkeyeeeon November 14, 2011   Link
  • 0
    General Commentits pretty much about a couple of old guys existing in the rap industry. Doom is obviously using potholders as a metaphor "some say the price of holding heat is often too high" etc. Count's verse is just some typical humble rap about music.
    phifedawgon April 21, 2008   Link
  • 0
    General Commenthot shit, boss.
    RecoveringPainon August 23, 2008   Link
  • 0
    General Commentawesome mix! i think its his best song
    WoodcliffNaderon April 11, 2009   Link
  • -1
    Song MeaningPot Holders=Roach Clips
    theyre holding hot shit
    bfeldon March 29, 2009   Link

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