Erick Sermon:
It's the E, and
I'm smokin'.
Wild like
Tone Loc,
I'm roastin, bakin'
MCs, the E
I'm not jokin' so back up, punk, slack up.
Watch your weak posse, before they get smacked up.
One by ONE, two by
TWO, three by
THREE, Yo
P... [Parrish: What's Up, E.D.?]
Pass the Uzi, to blow up, any wack
MC that show up, there goes one, blast 'im now. [E, hold up.] *
Don't make me wait-wait* because it might be too late, the punk might escape, and buck whyle, and in fact, bite my style, and
I'm-a catch a ******** charge, plus trial.
It's my thing to swing, your first mistake to bring a duck
MC that can't hang.
Don't forget,
I'm crazy swift.
My name is
Erick Sermon [yeah, and I'm Parrish Smith]
I could act foolish, start blastin'.
Ha ha ha ha, now who's laughin'?
I'm-a let ya slide, but ya owe me, next time you see me... [...holler like ya know me!]
I'm mad...
Refrain: (Here's a little story, I've gots to tell) {scratching} (I'm mad!) 4x
Parrish: My life story
I tell straight from the heart.
When suckers tried to crash my **** straight from start.
A young black kid destined for success, no
Old Gold, no *******, or buddha cess.
Straight up hard work.
No sleep and no shorts.
Brainstormin' with the skills that
Pop Duke taught.
To keep swingin', yeah, and not to quit.
Now I ride the
Benz, you ride the ****, with your punk friends, straight up ***** from
Punk City, my attitude's ****** up and real shitty.
From the backstabbers, yeah my so-called friends, who swim in my pool.
When it's time, flex the
Benz, around town, windows down at the
South Town,
Cool J tape or
K-Solo "Spellbound"
With fly girlies dippin, brothers grippin' and sippin'
Old Gold,
Red Bull, hands on my **** and
I'm just lampin' with my
EK shades, truck-jewels, obviously the man's paid.
But of course not, brother can't get his props like for instance, when
I cruise up the block in my 560 lampin' on my
Metro phone, chrome kit beamin' all off your dome.
But like a sucka, yeah, you looked the other way
That's how
I knew you're on my **** kid, but it's okay.
It's normal, relax, your whole head's busted.
Caught in the rap skit, ya couldn't be trusted.
Cuz my sounds pound from here to
Okinowi...{kiss} peace and
I'm ouuuutie!
Refrain Erick:
Stay tuned to this last episode, when
I rock the house and the mic explodes.
This is not the buckwild style that
I be usin', in fact black, it causes {mass confusion}
It's a fallout, when sucker
MCs and crowds call out my name, oh what a shame
I got {fame!}
Parrish: I'm not a new jack, my rhymes are not wack, and in fact,
I'm like Clint
Eastwood, 'stead of bullets, rhymes
I pack in my flow gun, so son, ya better run, cuz when it comes to hostage and prisoners, we take none.
We move wax like kilos ...{scratch} and when my jam hits the streets, the sounds explode.
Watch the right hook, duck the death blow jack,
I wonder where the
E and the
P's at... [Can they do it again?]
You bet your ass, black. [See you in '91]
Until things get the bozack... [I'm mad...]
Refrain
Erick Sermon:
It's the E, and
I'm smokin'.
Wild like
Tone Loc,
I'm roastin, bakin'
MCs, the E
I'm not jokin' so back up, punk, slack up.
Watch your weak posse, before they get smacked up.
One by ONE, two by
TWO, three by
THREE, Yo
P... [Parrish: What's Up, E.D.?]
Pass the Uzi, to blow up, any wack
MC that show up, there goes one, blast 'im now. [E, hold up.] *
Don't make me wait-wait* because it might be too late, the punk might escape, and buck whyle, and in fact, bite my style, and
I'm-a catch a ******** charge, plus trial.
It's my thing to swing, your first mistake to bring a duck
MC that can't hang.
Don't forget,
I'm crazy swift.
My name is
Erick Sermon [yeah, and I'm Parrish Smith]
I could act foolish, start blastin'.
Ha ha ha ha, now who's laughin'?
I'm-a let ya slide, but ya owe me, next time you see me... [...holler like ya know me!]
I'm mad...
Refrain: (Here's a little story, I've gots to tell) {scratching} (I'm mad!) 4x
Parrish: My life story
I tell straight from the heart.
When suckers tried to crash my **** straight from start.
A young black kid destined for success, no
Old Gold, no *******, or buddha cess.
Straight up hard work.
No sleep and no shorts.
Brainstormin' with the skills that
Pop Duke taught.
To keep swingin', yeah, and not to quit.
Now I ride the
Benz, you ride the ****, with your punk friends, straight up ***** from
Punk City, my attitude's ****** up and real shitty.
From the backstabbers, yeah my so-called friends, who swim in my pool.
When it's time, flex the
Benz, around town, windows down at the
South Town,
Cool J tape or
K-Solo "Spellbound"
With fly girlies dippin, brothers grippin' and sippin'
Old Gold,
Red Bull, hands on my **** and
I'm just lampin' with my
EK shades, truck-jewels, obviously the man's paid.
But of course not, brother can't get his props like for instance, when
I cruise up the block in my 560 lampin' on my
Metro phone, chrome kit beamin' all off your dome.
But like a sucka, yeah, you looked the other way
That's how
I knew you're on my **** kid, but it's okay.
It's normal, relax, your whole head's busted.
Caught in the rap skit, ya couldn't be trusted.
Cuz my sounds pound from here to
Okinowi...{kiss} peace and
I'm ouuuutie!
Refrain Erick:
Stay tuned to this last episode, when
I rock the house and the mic explodes.
This is not the buckwild style that
I be usin', in fact black, it causes {mass confusion}
It's a fallout, when sucker
MCs and crowds call out my name, oh what a shame
I got {fame!}
Parrish: I'm not a new jack, my rhymes are not wack, and in fact,
I'm like Clint
Eastwood, 'stead of bullets, rhymes
I pack in my flow gun, so son, ya better run, cuz when it comes to hostage and prisoners, we take none.
We move wax like kilos ...{scratch} and when my jam hits the streets, the sounds explode.
Watch the right hook, duck the death blow jack,
I wonder where the
E and the
P's at... [Can they do it again?]
You bet your ass, black. [See you in '91]
Until things get the bozack... [I'm mad...]
Refrain
