Nas feat. Eminem , EPMD - EPMD 2

[Intro: Nas, Erick Sermon & PMD] Respectfully, bucket on low like Erick and Parrish Closed casket flow, all you niggas 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 (Yeah) So what you sayin' nigga? You gots to chill (Uh-huh) Thinkin' you the truth really you not for real (EPMD!) Back to back with the hardest shit of the year (Nasir Jones, remix) [Verse 1: PMD & Erick Sermon] EPMD, we back in business Ain't nobody fuckin' with us, come to your senses P is the second coming of God, something to witnеss Piece of shit fly on your head likе 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) 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 [Chorus: Nas] 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 [Verse 2: Nas] 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 Feed up and met Sadie, 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 "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 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 it faked its death like Machiavelli You see letters in red splatter looks like sauce on spaghetti [Verse 3: Eminem] Yeah, ready? EPMD, we're back in business 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 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 bitch on appellate court She's on the pill, we gotta bond and she'll Never bail on me, not even outta jail EPMD, but me, I got 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 fucking 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 3, 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 shit on repeat all day, so please call me "Big Daddy", plus I got the cane and lean on me 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, misery 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 shit ain't for the faint Cause the brains ill, 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 Kanes and the Waynes and the Jays And the Dres and the Yes and the Drakes and the J Dillas, Jada’s, Cool J’s And the Ras and amazing as Nas is, and praise to the Gods Shout to the golden age of hip hop and the name of this song is [Chorus: Nas] 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