Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hardcore , by - EPMD. Song from the album Business As Usual, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 14.12.1990
Record label: DEF JAM, Universal Music
Song language: English
Hardcore |
| When I turn a party out, all hands is in the air |
| Some say it’s chill, New York throw chairs |
| The punk funk sound to make a sane man flip |
| Girls rush the stage, faggots cold dip |
| Low to avoid the caps and blows |
| By the gangbanners at the B-boy shows |
| Wit the cops trying to control the crowd |
| But they can’t, systems crank So What’cha Saying’s pumping loud |
| Blows are thrown, heads are flown like Pan Am Brothers licking off like the son of Sam and |
| The bass continues to thump |
| Some brothers hit the parking lot to go pop trunks |
| Hoes are slapped, jewels are snatched |
| Brothers are caught in the cross fire without no caps |
| And on my way out, I heard a sucker scream and shout |
| Niggas, Niggas, yea, cold turn the party out |
| (E Double) |
| Rap combat squares sat and I attack |
| Any crab MC that’s down wit the wack |
| And I wreck and if I can not snap a neck |
| Throw a knock, I’ll blow and look for a tech |
| I’m terror, new edition to rap era |
| I can’t be beat, I’m too sweet plus clever |
| I’m smart, yes, I’m a so called genius |
| I’m equip wit the thinking cap they call ?(Keenison)? |
| Yo, wit that, I can break fool |
| Especially when the posse is thick and got tools |
| Make me feel good 'cause they got steel |
| No blasters or cap guns son, the real deal |
| K-A, microphone wrecker E-D |
| The O, the U, the B, the L to the E Rocking on, word is born, so abandon ship |
| My name is Erick Sermon now want some and I’ll flip |
| I’m far from a chump, I’m harcore like Brooklyn |
| Mess wit me and get your manhood token |
| (Redman) |
| I got it going on, ?(sister muck)?, next to flex |
| You bet I drop heavy, so girls grab your coatex |
| I catch fits when I blitz a rhyme grit |
| And my lip gets to the point so rip some more fly shit |
| Redman ready to rock ruff rhymes |
| Renegade rapper, rip when it’s rhyme time |
| Punk push a pin in ?(pilt)? |
| so when I ?(pit)? |
| Pack pistol posse flow some more pro shit |
| Fe Fi Fo Fum funky to floor a Fuck a freak, words before play |
| Quickly, quiet is kept, never quack |
| On a Q-Tip, I quote, I throw rhymes like a quarterback |
| A monster, murder muthafuckas like Manson |
| A madmen who mutilize men with 9 mm |
| Bullets ?(brobab)? |
| brother back to back I slam |
| Bread and butter, break beast to Bam Bam |
| Jump off the Jim before I jack my johnson |
| I jam like Janet, chew MC’s like Swanson |
| Get a stamp dummy, I’m digging a dungeon |
| Can you dig that I dig deep to destroy dum dums |
| Yes, I yam what I yam when I jam, bro |
| My afro’s in the house, yo, yo, yo Known as I live large, life will be luxury |
| Ladies in Lamborginies, love is like (lut) to me Nasty nigga, competition is none |
| From Newark, New Jersey, knot hairs like Mike Nunn |
| Shit, rap is still when I’m stroking |
| Smoke wit shotguns but the sign said no smoking |
| Cool it kiddo, I control from sea to sea |
| Cut like Chuckie, plus style it top D Super mad lover, cool from the new schoo; |
| Hold your breath, while I walk holding my jewels |