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(Erick Sermon) |
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Yo, whassup moneygrip, it's the E on the trip |
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Not to Georgia, but Gladys Knight and the Pips |
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It's a one way ticket, to the highest plateau |
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For a smooth rapper, and for those that flow |
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So blow like the wind my friend and take flight |
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and "Fly, Like An Eagle" -- yeah right |
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You can't rock a party and make hands clapper |
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Cause you an N.R.er (that means a Non-Rapper) |
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So give it up sucker duck emcee you're not ready |
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to flex yet, or better yet rock steady |
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with the E Double, number one on the planet |
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Take it for granted, I'm In Control like Janet |
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I'm in command, plus full of fun |
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but don't play me, cause if you do you gettin done |
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And that my son comes to one conclusion |
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Total chaos.. no mass confusion |
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(Parrish Smith) |
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Knock knock (aiyyo, who is it?) |
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The one who storms on rappers just like a snow blizzard |
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Yes the micraphone doctor's back makin housecalls |
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to crab emcees, who claim to have the balls |
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to flex with the man, with the rep for snappin necks |
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I'm not the one son, so don't pose or make threats |
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The PMD, yeah Paid and Makin Dollars |
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Stranglin emcees with the micraphone cord and make em holler |
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I'm like, Quick Draw McGraw when I blast past |
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an emcees ass, then trash crash to smash his ass |
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and play his ego, while I sip a forty-oh |
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And count my cashflow, because I'm on the go |
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And aiyyo I don't joke, and that you can bet |
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I flex a rhyme on a rapper, play his posse and step |
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Like I said in Strictly Biz I'm known to cause an illusion |
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to create total chaos.. no mass confusion |
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(Erick Sermon) |
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No magic tricks, Houdini, or I Dream of Jeannie |
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or dissapearing acts from here to Tahiti |
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It's a one two three count, and I'm knockin out |
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without a doubt (Why E?) I got clout! |
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Homeboy you should know, I'm de commando of rap |
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Carry emcees no trees, across my bare back |
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I use measures, and yes all are drastic |
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For me the E Double, cause I'm fantastic |
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So, I let you know, money I don't play |
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Step back and you won't get smacked, hear what I say? |
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Lay low Afro, or take a nightcap |
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And if you tired (yo, then go take a nap) |
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Or close your eyes and chank em like a Jap |
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then lounge, as I rock across the map |
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Yo watch me go, ? in seconds |
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Me and PMD and the sound from our records |
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Check out the beat and the style I'm usin |
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It's total chaos.. no mass confusion |
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(Parrish Smith) |
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Last rhyme was for E, this one's for the Gipper |
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Give me room.. cause I'm about to rip a |
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emcee's head off as I release my steam |
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The method of decapitation, is the guillotine |
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So check out the tempo, and let your body go |
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Cause a brother like MD's about to go Rambo |
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A Micraphone Doctor, an emcee physician |
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An all around scholar, a rapper technician |
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So put up or shut up, cause MD is like fed up |
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You, your wack crew, your whole damn set up |
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Suckers still slippin, you better get a grip and |
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change your wack style while the clock still tickin |
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Cause pursuin and doin a brother, is second nature |
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Can you feel it E Double? (Yeah, somethin like ?) |
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To the Micraphone Doctor, all rappers are obsolete |
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You lack style and composure, plus your rhymes are weak |
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I gave you all due respect, when I said mic check |
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You're still slippin Duke, it's time to snap that neck |
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Like I said in Strictly Biz I'm known to cause an illusion |
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to create total chaos.. no mass confusion |
