Nas - EPMD 2 Lyrics - WikiLyrics
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Nas - EPMD 2 Lyrics


[Intro: Nas]
Respectfully

[Verse 1: Nas, Erick Sermon & PMD]
Bucket on low like Erick and Parrish
Closed casket flow, all you niggas get deaded
They don’t give you one single rose while you can smell it
So I pick from my own garden (Garden)
Wanna go out in my garden like Godfather
Grandkids and a Rottweiler got over the block trauma (Yeah, trauma)
So what you sayin’, nigga? You gots to chill (Uh-huh)
Thinkin’ you the truth, really you not for real (EPMD!)
Back to back with it, the hardest shit of the year (Nasir Jones, remix)

[Verse 2: PMD & Erick Sermon]
EPMD, we back in business
Ain’t nobody fuckin’ with us, come to your senses (Uh)
P is the second comin’ of God, somеthin’ to witness
Piece of shit, fly on your hеad like Mike Pence’s, we in the trenches
I’m mad, better yet, I’m on a rampage
My people can’t even get minimum wage
Fuck a stimulus (Uh), give me some interest (Uh)
Give me a loan (Oh), give me a home
Give me that land you owe me so I can roam
So when you trespass, blaow, one in your dome
Best wishes, ghost ’em like he Tommy
Ain’t worried ’bout nothing ’cause Hit Squad behind me

[Chorus: Nas]
EPMD, we back in business
I visualize what it is, not what it isn’t
We at the mafia table next to the kitchen
Eatin’ Michelin Stars, countin’ a million

[Verse 3: Nas & Eminem]
Dun! I let it go for the family, meetin’s at Cote in Miami
Them wine bottles on maggie, extra large
Sign up for my masterclass, Escobar
Feet up at Mets Stadium at my restaurant
Tied in from AZ to Dave East
You know my thoughts get crazy
My teachers, they couldn’t grade me
I know some Haitians in Dade County, got choppers in Haiti
She booked a flight to Colombia, made her body amazin’
Just to post it on Tumblr, this that “fuck up the summer” shit
I don’t care what you comin’ with, me and Hit-Boy runnin’ shit (Runnin’ shit)
Big gold, rope chains, but they flooded now (Yeah; flooded now)
Pull up with the Ghost like a haunted house (Haunted house)
She gettin’ scary, blood on my hands like Carrie
Might walk through a cemetery to see where hip-hop is buried
I said it was dead, but it faked its death like Machiavelli
You see letters in red splatter, look like sauce and spaghetti
(Yeah, ready?)

[Verse 4: Eminem]
EPMD, we’re back in business (What?)
Livin’ in cramped conditions will give you ammunition
I stock those shelves, I got more shells like Taco Bell and I’m not gon’ fail
I got no L’s (Noels) like Christmas, you don’t wanna make the claws (Claus) come out (Nah)
Y’all should call yourselves Santa (Why?) ’cause none of y’all are real (Nah)
Not a single one (Like what?), like a dollar bill (Yeah)
It’s like your bitch in the appellate court, she’s on a pill (Appeal)
We got her a bond and she’ll
Never bail on me (Bail on me), not even outta jail (Haha, jail)
EPMD, but me, I gots no chill (Ch-chill)
Just a lotta skrill
Lady, my paper’s so crazy, I just tossed a mill’ out the window
Of my mobile on the fuckin’ freeway on the way here (Yeah)
Like Rudolph and his homies when they pullin’ the sleigh, yeah
That’s a lot of bucks flyin’ when I’m makin’ it rain, dear
Green on me but no weed, shorty, just these, darling
A pocket full of pills, some are Tylenol 3s, prolly two or three Molly
So some are E which reminds me of rap summary
Mami, my theme song, me and P
Always used to play that shit on repeat all day
So please call me “Big Daddy” (Daddy)
Plus I got the ‘caine and lean on me (Yeah)
MCs, I’m eatin’ you B-I-T-C-H’s like tortilla chips
Me, I’m free of debt, yeah, green is on Chia Pet (Woo)
This is the effects of my old neighborhood misery index
Poverty at its peak, OCD and PTSD I guess
R.I.P. out to DMX, Stezo, E and Nipsey
Ecstasy and Prince Markie Dee, MF DOOM, I hit 50 via text
Told him that I love him ’cause I don’t even know when I’ma see him next (Nah)
Tomorrow could be your death (Bring that beat back)
Yeah, and this shit ain’t for the faint
‘Cause the brain’s iller trained, killer, danger, deranged
And I drank all the DayQuil (Yeah) I blank on the paper
Then wait ’til the page fill up (What?)
Hate spiller shameful the strength of a pain pill or tranq’
I just pray for the day when I’m able to say that I’m placed with the greats
And my name’s with the Kanes, and the Waynes, and the Jays
And the Dres, and the Yes, and the Drakes
And the J Dillas, Jadas, Cool Js, and the Ras
And amazin’ as Nas is, and praise to the Gods of this
Shout to the golden age of hip-hop and the name of this song is

[Chorus: Nas]
EPMD, we back in business
I visualize what it is, not what it isn’t
We at the mafia table next to the kitchen
Eatin’ Michelin Stars, countin’ a million


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