EPMD 2 (feat. Eminem & EPMD)

Respectfully 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 saying, nigga? You gots to chill (uh-huh) Thinking you the truth, really you not for real (EPMD!) Back to back with it, the hardest shit of the year (Nasir Jones, remix) EPMD, we back in business Ain't nobody fucking with us, come to your senses (uh) P is the second coming of God, something to witness Piece of shit, fly on your head 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 EPMD, we back in business I visualize what it is, not what it isn't We at the mafia table next to the kitchen Eating Michelin Stars, counting a million Dun! I let it go for the family, meetings 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 amazing Just to post it on Tumblr, this that "fuck up the summer" shit I don't care what you coming with Me and Hit-Boy running shit (running shit) Big gold, rope chains, but they flooded now (yeah, flooded now) Pull up with the Ghost like a haunted house (haunted house) Shit getting 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?) EPMD, we're back in business (what?) Living 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 like Christmas You don't wanna make the claws 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) Just 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) EPMD, but me, I gots no chills (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 fucking freeway on the way here (Yeah) Like Rudolph and his homies when they pulling the sleigh, yeah That's a lot of bucks flying when I'm making 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 eating 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 Ye's, and the Drake's And the J Dilla's, Jada's, Cool J's, and the Ra's And amazing 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 EPMD, we back in business I visualize what it is, not what it isn't We at the mafia table next to the kitchen Eating Michelin Stars, counting a million