| As the wind sets the mood, it’s time to let off
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| A sucker tried to play me, the E I’m not soft
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| I’m very hardcore, droppin' bombs like Warsaw
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| It reminds me, back in 1984
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| When I went to a party with the master plan
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| To step up, and put the mic in my hand
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| Everybody was there, from junior high to high schools
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| Dyin' to get busy, because I knew I had the tools
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| Then I got the heart and went by the set
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| I said, «Yo, I wanna rock the set""Yeah no sweat»
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| Kickin' rhymes in the place, people couldn’t take it
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| The style I flowed, the way I shaked and baked it
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| Later on I made a record, and got recognition
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| Everybody’s jockin', now nobody’s dissin'
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| Written and produced by the new rap duo
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| Yes EPMD, now I’m known in school
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| I see the backstabbers, and the elderly creature features
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| That used to diss me, when I was tryin' to reach the
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| Tip tip-top and I won’t stop
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| To be the master, in the field of hip-hop
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| I did that, and got a name for myself
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| The image of E, and all of my wealth
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| I see my fake friends, but things ain’t the same
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| Oh what a shame, I diss 'em
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| Who to blame? |
| It wasn’t me it was the… «Fame!»
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| It wasn’t me it was the… «Fame!»
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| Before I cut records I had dreams of livin large
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| Earnin' crazy cash flow, the whole nine yards
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| But when I told my college friends they kicked back and laughed
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| Said, «You better grab your books and take your behind to class»
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| They said, «You couldn’t make a record and expect to get paid
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| 'Cause there’s too many def rappers in the world today»
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| I said, «Yo, my name is M.D. and my style is def»
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| They said, «Your name is Parrish son, you’re like all the rest
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| Frontin' you gettin' a contract, but then you 'fess»
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| But when you heard my record playin', your mouth was wide open
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| Your head was tilted back that you was almost chokin'
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| But I just lounge, and cool with the fellas
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| Like my roomie D-Wade, Top Notch, and James Ellis
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| I never hung with girls, only one and she was mellow
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| First name was Terry, last name Romanello
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| My records started sellin' then P withdrew
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| From the college Southern Con, known as SCSU
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| But when I often go and visit they say, «P bust a rhyme»
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| I shake my head and then chuckle, and throw up the peace sign
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| They wanna feel my gold and sport my Rolex
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| But P reply it’s really nothin', and don’t like to flex
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| And when I step up on the scene I always hear them whisper
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| «Yo P’s not the same, did you see him diss you?»
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| I go deep into my thoughts, then I questioned my brain
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| It wasn’t me, the money, or the fortune, it was the… «Fame!»
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| It wasn’t me it was the… «Fame!»
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| Oh!
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| Now you wanna know me, before you wasn’t speakin'
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| Now you watch Yo! |
| MTV Raps every weekend
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| Just to see me, the E, and the P
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| Coolin' out on the scene, with Fab 5 Freddy
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| Back then you didn’t know, that I was determined
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| To be a def rapper with the name Erick Sermon
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| To be a crowd mover, someone that cause trouble
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| Then I thought, and came up with E Double
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| I can’t forget, how they used to diss
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| Sayin' he can’t rap, because he talks with a lisp
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| But I got paid, now you feel stupid
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| Amazed by the style the sound and how we looped it
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| Now I clock G’s, trunk jewels, and star trims
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| Cool around town, and flex my black Benz
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| Definitely hooked up, with the system that cranks
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| Living well off, with dinero in the bank
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| EPMD, is Erick Parrish Making Dollars
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| Always on tour, so you can call us (roads/Rhodes) scholars
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| You saw me in eighty-seven, where have you been because we miss you
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| I dismissed you, it wasn’t me who dissed you, it was the… «Fame!»
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| It wasn’t me it was the… «Fame!»
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| As I freak a funky style, to a funky fresh rhythm
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| I use my crazy def talent, that God has given
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| Me to flow slow, and still live large
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| To drop a def LP, and catch MC’s off guard
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| Because my friends started buggin', we used to cool at the mall
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| But on the S.T., the Sneak Tip, they prayed for my downfall
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| I used to cruise by in my rock and always hear them mumble
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| «They got lucky on Strictly Biz but watch the next one crumble»
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| My father always told me to wisen up son
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| 'Cause if you hung with nine broke friends, you’re bound to be the tenth one |
| So I cut my friends off, and P went for self
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| Me and Erick Sermon, and no one else
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| Strictly writin' def lyrics to my best ability
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| With the crazy imagination as my only utility
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| 'Cause MC’s around my way brag how def they are
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| But now they workin' full time, and sharin' their mom’s cars
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| Always frontin' to the girls, how hard you can rock
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| But you leave out how you carpin' to go punch the clock
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| Yeah we came hittin' hard, so all the talkin' had to halt
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| But don’t blame us, blame God, it’s his fault
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| For assistin' us on the mission of a point of no return
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| To do a crab MC, who did not learn
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| Now when you’re hot you’re hot, and when you’re not you’re not
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| And when it comes to funky music, the two rock the spot
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| So next time you see me coolin', bite your lip and respect
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| Between me and you sonny, straight up, I’m like death
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| I cooled on the Run tour, with Flavor and Chuck
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| Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince but I guess that was luck
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| I did shows in crazy countries, like Europe and France
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| Copenhagen, Denmark, and Amsterdam
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| I even been to our country, that they call Africa
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| Keep your eyes on your girl, 'cause P’ll be watchin' around the
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| Tick tick’n, yo check out P rippin'
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| A new way to sway, 'cause brothers keep vickin'
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| Flows and echoes, that sound exact
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| But you’re rhymin' in circles, and you ain’t sayin' jack
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| So take it in stride, by the way I’m still the same
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| First name is still Parrish, Sue’s my girl, nuttin' changed
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| You insist I act funny, but who’s to blame?
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| It wasn’t Yo! |
| MTV Raps, the money, or Soul Train
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| It was the… «Fame!»
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| It wasn’t me it was the… «Fame!» |