Epmd 2 Lyrics - Nas | Eminem

Respectfully, bucket on low like Erick and Parrish
Closed casket flow, all you ni**as 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 (Trauma, yeah)
So what you sayin’ ni**a? You gots to chill
Thinkin’ you the truth really you not for real (EPMD!)
Back to back with the hardest sh*t of the year (Nasir Jones, remix)

EPMD, we back in business
Ain’t nobody f**kin’ with us, come to your senses
P is the second coming of God, somеthing to witness
Piece of sh*t, 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
F**k a stimulus (Give me some interest)
Give me a loan (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 is isn’t
We at the mafia table next to the kitchen
Eatin’ Michelin Stars, countin’ a million

Dunn, I let it go for the family meetings and coated Miami
The wine bottles on Maggie extra large
Sign up for my master class, Escobar
Feet up at Mets Stadium, I’m at my restaurant
Clouded from hazy the daily, she know my thoughts get crazy
My teachers they couldn’t grade me
I know some Haitians in Dave County, got choppas in Haiti
She booked a flight to Colombia, made her body amazing
Just to post it on Tumblr, this that “f**k up the summer” sh*t
I don’t care what you comin’ with, me and Hit-Boy running sh*t (Running sh*t)
Big gold rope chains but they flooded now (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, looks like sauce on spaghetti

Yeah, ready? EPMD, we’re back in business (What?)
Living in cramp conditions, we’ll give you ammunition
Got no shells? I got more shells like Taco Bell and I’m not gon’ fail
I got no elves like Christmas, you don’t wanna make the 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 bi**h on appellate court
She’s on the pill, we gotta bond and she’ll
Never bail on me (Bail on me), not even outta jail (Haha)
EPMD, but me, I gots no chills (No chill)
Just a lot of skrill
Lady, my paper’s so crazy, I just tossed a mill’ out the window
Of my mobile on the f**king freeway on the way here
Like Rudolph and his homies when they pullin’ the sleigh, yeah
It’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, probably two or three Molly
This summer eve which reminds me of rap summary
Mami, my theme song, me and Pete
Always use to play that sh*t on repeat all day, so please call me
“Big Daddy” (Daddy), plus I got the cane and lean on me (Yeah)
MC’s, I’m eatin’ you B-I-T-C-H-E-S like tortilla chips
Me, I’m free up, that Chia green is on Chia Pet
This is the effects of my old neighborhood, Missouri index
Poverty at its peak, OCD and PTSD I guess
R.I.P. out to DMX, geez louise, and MC 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
Tomorrow could be a death
Yeah, and this sh*t ain’t for the faint
‘Cause the brains iller, trained killer, danger, deranged
And I drink all the DayQuil and I blank on the paper
Then wait ’til the page
Fill up hate, spill of shame for the strength of a pain pill, the drank
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 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
And a 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 is isn’t
We at the mafia table next to the kitchen
Eatin’ Michelin Stars, countin’ a million