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
