Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song It Wasn't Me, It Was The Fame, artist - EPMD. Album song Unfinished Business, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.1990
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Priority
Song language: English
It Wasn't Me, It Was The Fame |
As the wind sets the mood, it’s time to let off |
A sucker tried to play me, the E I’m not soft |
I’m very hardcore, droppin' bombs like Warsaw |
It reminds me, back in 1984 |
When I went to a party with the master plan |
To step up, and put the mic in my hand |
Everybody was there, from junior high to high schools |
Dyin' to get busy, because I knew I had the tools |
Then I got the heart and went by the set |
I said, «Yo, I wanna rock the set""Yeah no sweat» |
Kickin' rhymes in the place, people couldn’t take it |
The style I flowed, the way I shaked and baked it |
Later on I made a record, and got recognition |
Everybody’s jockin', now nobody’s dissin' |
Written and produced by the new rap duo |
Yes EPMD, now I’m known in school |
I see the backstabbers, and the elderly creature features |
That used to diss me, when I was tryin' to reach the |
Tip tip-top and I won’t stop |
To be the master, in the field of hip-hop |
I did that, and got a name for myself |
The image of E, and all of my wealth |
I see my fake friends, but things ain’t the same |
Oh what a shame, I diss 'em |
Who to blame? |
It wasn’t me it was the… «Fame!» |
It wasn’t me it was the… «Fame!» |
Before I cut records I had dreams of livin large |
Earnin' crazy cash flow, the whole nine yards |
But when I told my college friends they kicked back and laughed |
Said, «You better grab your books and take your behind to class» |
They said, «You couldn’t make a record and expect to get paid |
'Cause there’s too many def rappers in the world today» |
I said, «Yo, my name is M.D. and my style is def» |
They said, «Your name is Parrish son, you’re like all the rest |
Frontin' you gettin' a contract, but then you 'fess» |
But when you heard my record playin', your mouth was wide open |
Your head was tilted back that you was almost chokin' |
But I just lounge, and cool with the fellas |
Like my roomie D-Wade, Top Notch, and James Ellis |
I never hung with girls, only one and she was mellow |
First name was Terry, last name Romanello |
My records started sellin' then P withdrew |
From the college Southern Con, known as SCSU |
But when I often go and visit they say, «P bust a rhyme» |
I shake my head and then chuckle, and throw up the peace sign |
They wanna feel my gold and sport my Rolex |
But P reply it’s really nothin', and don’t like to flex |
And when I step up on the scene I always hear them whisper |
«Yo P’s not the same, did you see him diss you?» |
I go deep into my thoughts, then I questioned my brain |
It wasn’t me, the money, or the fortune, it was the… «Fame!» |
It wasn’t me it was the… «Fame!» |
Oh! |
Now you wanna know me, before you wasn’t speakin' |
Now you watch Yo! |
MTV Raps every weekend |
Just to see me, the E, and the P |
Coolin' out on the scene, with Fab 5 Freddy |
Back then you didn’t know, that I was determined |
To be a def rapper with the name Erick Sermon |
To be a crowd mover, someone that cause trouble |
Then I thought, and came up with E Double |
I can’t forget, how they used to diss |
Sayin' he can’t rap, because he talks with a lisp |
But I got paid, now you feel stupid |
Amazed by the style the sound and how we looped it |
Now I clock G’s, trunk jewels, and star trims |
Cool around town, and flex my black Benz |
Definitely hooked up, with the system that cranks |
Living well off, with dinero in the bank |
EPMD, is Erick Parrish Making Dollars |
Always on tour, so you can call us (roads/Rhodes) scholars |
You saw me in eighty-seven, where have you been because we miss you |
I dismissed you, it wasn’t me who dissed you, it was the… «Fame!» |
It wasn’t me it was the… «Fame!» |
As I freak a funky style, to a funky fresh rhythm |
I use my crazy def talent, that God has given |
Me to flow slow, and still live large |
To drop a def LP, and catch MC’s off guard |
Because my friends started buggin', we used to cool at the mall |
But on the S.T., the Sneak Tip, they prayed for my downfall |
I used to cruise by in my rock and always hear them mumble |
«They got lucky on Strictly Biz but watch the next one crumble» |
My father always told me to wisen up son |
'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 |
Me and Erick Sermon, and no one else |
Strictly writin' def lyrics to my best ability |
With the crazy imagination as my only utility |
'Cause MC’s around my way brag how def they are |
But now they workin' full time, and sharin' their mom’s cars |
Always frontin' to the girls, how hard you can rock |
But you leave out how you carpin' to go punch the clock |
Yeah we came hittin' hard, so all the talkin' had to halt |
But don’t blame us, blame God, it’s his fault |
For assistin' us on the mission of a point of no return |
To do a crab MC, who did not learn |
Now when you’re hot you’re hot, and when you’re not you’re not |
And when it comes to funky music, the two rock the spot |
So next time you see me coolin', bite your lip and respect |
Between me and you sonny, straight up, I’m like death |
I cooled on the Run tour, with Flavor and Chuck |
Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince but I guess that was luck |
I did shows in crazy countries, like Europe and France |
Copenhagen, Denmark, and Amsterdam |
I even been to our country, that they call Africa |
Keep your eyes on your girl, 'cause P’ll be watchin' around the |
Tick tick’n, yo check out P rippin' |
A new way to sway, 'cause brothers keep vickin' |
Flows and echoes, that sound exact |
But you’re rhymin' in circles, and you ain’t sayin' jack |
So take it in stride, by the way I’m still the same |
First name is still Parrish, Sue’s my girl, nuttin' changed |
You insist I act funny, but who’s to blame? |
It wasn’t Yo! |
MTV Raps, the money, or Soul Train |
It was the… «Fame!» |
It wasn’t me it was the… «Fame!» |