Verse One: Erick Sermon
Whoo! Ah ah, ayahh, ahh ahh ahh
And you don't stop, ahh ahh, word is bond, word is bond
Now introducing the sound from the ghetto
E Double and Too $hort, what the fuck you thought?
I come with the ruckus, It's My Thing when I swing
I'm Born to Mack, always strapped, with the black gat
Who out there I swear boy wanna get touched
Roll up, and catch a slug to the chest, so DUCK
I talk the talk, walk the walk, now nigga
Five hundred S drivin with hand on trigger
Crazy Lestat, check my track record
Everything I touch is gold since eighteen years old
So what that mean? I roll the blunt
and puff the indo smoke in it, I trip in a minute
Crazy holy doctor holdin me cuz I be rockin B
Sewin up like Monopoly, nobody's stoppin me
Dig it, Funkdafied like Brat, how's that?
I stick and move on tracks while I smoke a twenty sack
Who said the E can't rock? That's bullshit
Suck my dick and get a big fat lick of my balls
You wanna brawl? Punk I thought not
You might get beat down and stomped like Sasquatch
Your girl, like Keith Sweat, I wanna fuck her
Psych, I already stuck her
I got rhymes to make your whole head swell up
Here's an icepack homeboy shut the hell up
I rock the mic with Too $hort, y'all niggaz know what's happenin
Everything he touch goes platinum
Eyeeaaaah!
Verse Two: Too $hort
I made a half a million in a week
And every nigga on the street got a tape playin me
You can't believe it? Erick Sermon, rollin with $hort
Rolled from California all the way to New York
In big Benzes, G-50 up
Now we trying to squash all that East/West stuff
We spent years in the studio makin funky tracks
Signed a bunch of niggaz with some tight ass raps
It's like Father Dom, it's like Keith Murray
Makin millionaires but it ain't no hurry
Cuz we all in it for the long run
I won't leave the studio until a song's done
And ain't nuthin really hard about gett
