| Aiyyo whassup E Double?
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| Yo whassup man?
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| Yo these crab MC’s got us trapped up behind these walls man
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| But I’m ready to break out of here and do this, yaknahmsayin?
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| So what’s the magic word?
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| Open Sesame, and let down the main gate
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| Before you screamed EPMD, you shouldn’t wait
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| I roll with a posse, hey you tried to stop me Also yo, your brothers tried to pop me on the sneak tip, without me knowin
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| so I keep goin, and my rhymes keep flowin
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| On and on, and I don’t quit
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| I get pushed to the limit, and yo that’s it Step by step, I put an end to your fun
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| cause I’m the chosen one, yes me my son
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| A young kid from the ghetto, a kiddie from the city
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| I don’t feel sorrow, and I have no pity
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| to run up on you, and wax plus tax
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| Your gold, your money, and from your eyes your contacts
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| Then flex over, a hop skip and a jump
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| to the next town, to go punk a chump
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| MC’s try to diss me, and try to bust caps
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| I’m not havin it, and that means no haps Jack
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| So get the bozack, only off the crack, that’s wack
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| This is the big payback
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| As I go and flow, to a different type of tempo
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| (Why MD?) C’mon E, the P keeps it simple
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| Plus I’m strikin like lightnin, throwin blows like Tyson
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| Slayin MC’s on the Q-T, sorta like a sniper
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| So if a sucker don’t like me, the feeling is mutual
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| I took my rhyme to a lower RPM, then shift to neutral
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| then crack a 40 (what kind) of Olde E To slay an MC (how) on the Q-T
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| (So what’s your name boy?) C’mon, you know it’s M.D.
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| So while I’m wreckin he’s checkin, all the bodies that’s left and
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| a pile behind the stage, the P is like steppin
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| off from the scenes, I see lights and si-rens
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| Witness everywhere, but no one seen a thing
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| When cops ask questions, my description is vague
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| No answers at all, just bodies behind the stage
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| One witness yells out, that he was dressed in black
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| Stupid dookie link, with a Fisherman hat
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| A cop said, «Yo, how’d he flee from the spot?»
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| «In a black sports car, I think it was an Iroc
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| but the windows were tinted, and we couldn’t get a look»
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| (Why?) There was smoke from the rubber he cooked
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| The big payback
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| No Rome-et-oh, or Juliette romance story
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| Just EPMD, the fame and the glory
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| The rappin technique, somethin like fencin, dangerous
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| It keeps you in suspense
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| And you have to be cool, and plus have stamina
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| Cause if you don’t, I’m gonna end up stabbin ya in your guts, from the razor cuts
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| And I’ma stick and pick, until your mind goes nuts
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| It might sound gross, or make your stomach bubble
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| But don’t never ever ever, mess with E Double
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| I’m like Jumpin Jack Flash, a Spy with an Eye
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| I do no stunts, and I’m not The Fall Guy
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| I’m just the E, the R-I-C-K, that’s all
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| Did some check one-twos, and some yes yes y’alls
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| I’m the man of the hour, sweet to be sour
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| (So what you sayin E?) I got «Soul power!»
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| So dig it, as I kick it, keep your eyes open
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| Cause a brother like me, is always scopin
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| In fact, you should pack, because I cut no slack
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| It’s like that. |
| this is the big payback
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| If rappin was a tribe I’d be the chief commanche
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| Had fat link, chunky rings, nuttin fancy
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| So saddle up MC’s, and off we go It’s not a rodeo, but I carry a lasso
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| Cause I’m back from vacation, cause suckers kept slippin
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| Rappin off-beat, plus your tunes wasn’t hittin
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| They wanna claim a style on the M-I-C
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| But I can rotate the state, cold rippin shows with E Cause whether maxin or relaxin, waxin or taxin
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| Never step to a show without packin
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| my partners, Mr. Smith and Mr. Wessun
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| So nothin moves funny, at the rappin session
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| I’m Strictly Biz and knuckles, no time for laugh or chuckles
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| I drop clear lyrics, while your bass sound muffled
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| (You sniff blow?) Hell no, and still flow and say go More or less do a show. |
| nah
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| the only high I get, is when my fans yell HOE
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| So get the bo-zack, because we’re back to hack
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| Here to let you know that it’s the big payback
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| Yeah that’s right man, big payback in eighty-nine, yaknahmsayin?
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| EPMD’s in effect on the Unfinished Business tip
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| ? |
| and Tony, snappin necks |