Refrain: [Comin´ straight from the Underground] 4x
Erick Sermon:
As I pump up a brand new funk swing, and bring back the chill of thrill from B.B. King. Old fashioned is the way that I be waxin´ a MC, I bust a grill, and the reaction I check, inspect, make sure the head´s wrecked; [crunch] snap a neck for some live effects. A machine, my functioning, that´s mean. I stay together, my man, like Al Green. I´m a slayer, the E-R-I-C-K and I´m back to attack a punk chump that ain´t sayin´ jack. Boom, I´m buckwild when I´m stoned, I close only one eye like a cyclone. So I throw on my black shades that´s rhinestone, summer to my Benz that´s outlined in chrome. I´m the Grand Royal MC, I´m no joke. I hit like a Phillie Blunt when it´s toked. I smoke, an MC well-done, he gets done.
I´m knockin´ out wack MCs like Michael Nunn. Full-power, one punch, crunch, I´m throwin´ bolos. I´m strapped heavy, my handguns that´s solo. I´m packed when it´s time to get down. Cuz Erick Sermon´s comin´ straight from the Underground...
Refrain 4x
PMD: Okie dokie. My mind gets slow-pokey when I toke the bull from a Phillie Blunt and I hope me Old Gold is cold when I pop the cap. Take a sip and then blitz, then crack a back with a rhyme sack. Cuz I´m too smooth, pay my dues, and can´t lose.
I´m Top Gun, pullin´ bitches like Tom Cruise. And my main man, D-Wade, still gets paid. And in the off-season, we vacate in the shade. So all hail the Mary, crack the Moet, blast the boom-box, then act like George and Jet-son. Cuz my style, similar to Tae Kwon Do, but hey-yo, I don´t kick or throw stars, this brother flows to the funk track, with 808 drops for prop the top of druggin´ or thuggin, D.T.s or cops. I say, no to blow and yes to cess and I suggest you put a buck on Lotto, and if you win, you should invest in a new grill, Bill, cuz I rock non- until the Fat Lady sings, or Brooklyn starts to ill. There´s a fat chance, with the brother bistro, cuz I´m the master of the quadraverb and the echo.
There´s no time to stop, so P keep on steppin´ on the edge of the frame of the mind, the nine is the weapon. That I choose to squeeze when a brother acts wild. One slug to the head, mafioso style. You catch a Universal beat down with sounds that pound, watch yourself son, I´m comin´ straight from the underground.
Accueil
💃🎤 Paroles de chanson Française et Internationnales