EPMD 2 (feat. Eminem & EPMD)

Respectfully

Bucket on low like Erick and Parrish

Closed casket flow, all you **** 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 what you sayin' ****? You gots to chill

Thinkin' you the truth, really you not for real

Back to back wit' it, the hardest shit of the year (Remix)

EPMD, we back in business

Ain't nobody fuckin' with us, come to your senses

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

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 'cause Hit Squad behind me

EPMD, we back in business

I visualize what is it, not what it isn't

We at the mafia table next to the kitchen

Eatin' Michelin Star, countin' a million

Done

I let it go for the family, meetings in COTE, Miami

Them wine bottles on Maggie, extra large

Sign up for my master class, Escobar

Feet up at Met 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 choppas 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 comin' with

Me and Hit-Boy running shit

Big gold, rope chains, but they flooded now (Yeah)

Pull up with the ghost like a haunted house

Shit 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 on spaghetti

(Yeah, ready?)

See, EPMD, we're back in business

Living in cramped conditions, we'll give you ammunition

Stock those shelves, I got those 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

It's like your bitch in appellate court, she's on a pill

We got 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 mill' out the window of my 'mobile on the fuckin' freeway on my way here

Like Rudolph and his homies when they're pullin' the sleigh, yeah

That's a lot of bucks flyin' 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 3's, probably 2 or 3 molly

So some are E which reminds me of rap summary, mami

My theme song, me and Pete, always use to play that shit on repeat all day

So please call me Big Daddy

Plus, I got the Kane and lean on me (Yeah)

MC's, I'm eating you B-I-T-C-H-E-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 its peak, OCD and PSTD, 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 'em next

Tomorrow could be your death (Bring that beat)

Yeah, and this shit ain't for the faint 'cause the brain's illa trained

Kill the danger, deranged and I drank all the Dayquil, I blank on the paper

Then wait till 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 name's with the Kane's and the Waynes 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 of hip hop and the name of this song is-

EPMD, we back in business

I visualize what is it not what is isn't

We at the mafia table next to the kitchen

Eatin' Michelin Star, countin' a million