EPMD 2 Lyrics – Nas feat. Eminem & EPMD

EPMD 2 Lyrics

VERSE 1
Respectfully
Bucket on low like Erick and Parrish
Closed casket flow all you n*ggas get deaded
They don’t give you one single rose while you can smell it
So I pick from my own garden
Wanna go out in my garden like Godfather
Grandkids and a rottweiler got over the block trauma
So Wat Cha Sayin’ n*gga You Gots To Chill
Thinkin’ you the truth really you not for real
Back to back wit’ it the hardest sh*t of the year

VERSE 2
Remix
EPMD we back in business
Ain’t nobody f*ckin’ with us, come to your senses
P is the second coming of God something to witness
Piece of sh*t 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
F*ck a stimulus
Give me some interest
Give me a loan
Give me a home
Get 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 cuz Hit Squad behind me

HOOK
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 Star countin’ a million

VERSE 3
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 in 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 f*ck up the summer sh*t, I don’t care what you comin’ with
Me and Hit-Boy runnin’ sh*t
Big gold, rope chains, but they flooded now, yeah
Pull up with the Ghost like a 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 in fact it’s death like Machiavelli
You see letters in red splatter look like sauce and spaghetti

VERSE 4
Ready?
EPMD we’re back in business
Livin’ in cramped conditions will give you ammunition
I stock those shelves I got 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
Y’all should call yourselves Santa ‘cuz none of y’all are real
Not a single one
Like a dollar bill
Just like your b*tch in appellate court she’s on a pill (appeal)
We got her a bond and she’ll, never bail on me not even outta jail
EPMD but me I gots no chill
Just a lotta skrill
Lady my paper’s so crazy
I just tossed a mil’ out the window of my mobile on the f*ckin’ freeway on the way here
Like Rudolph and his homies when they’re 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 3 prolly 2 or 3 molly
So some are E which reminds me of rap summary mami
My theme song me and P always used to play that sh*t on repeat all day so please call me
Big Daddy plus I got the Kane and Lean On Me
MC’s I’m eating you B-*-T-C-H’s like tortilla chips
Me I’m free of debt yeah green is on Chia Pet
This is the effects of my old neighborhood misery index
Poverty at it’s peak OCD and PTSD I guess
RIP 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 cuz I don’t even know when I’m gonna see him next
Tomorrow could be your death (bring that beat back)
Yeah and this sh*t ain’t for the faint cuz the brain’s illa trained killer danger deranged
And I drank all the Dayquil I blank on the paper
Then wait ‘til the page fill up
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 names with the Kane’s and the Wayne’s and the Jay’s and
The Dre’s 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 Hip Hop and the name of this song is

HOOK
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 Star countin’ a million