Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Fan, artist - EPMD. Album song Out Of Business, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 31.12.1998
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: The Island Def Jam
Song language: English
The Fan |
| Yeah yeah, uh-huh, word up |
| Yo, yo-yo. |
| YO |
| Aiyyo this here’s procedure, rock MC’s durin my leisure |
| Time I spend to do em in |
| The sound pumps hard, and runs right through ya |
| When it hits, it reacts like a airbag to ya |
| Some flip to it, small kids might skip to it |
| And jail cats get rep to it |
| You get, by on record but you wack on stage |
| So I’m, blowin you up, throwin hand grenades |
| That’s why we roll with the big boys |
| With big toys, bringin crazy noise and ruckus |
| Shuttin down crews and motherfuckers |
| In low beta, not to be fucked with like the swamp gator |
| Potato, on the barrel of the snub nosed when I blaze ya |
| As I, dust bust, crush and rush |
| Catch you flossin nigga, turn your ice physi' into slush |
| So yo, what’s the deally for really |
| We rock nine untilly, grindin like Billy |
| So niggas chill and spark the Phillie |
| Chorus: Parrish Smith (repeat 2X) |
| Yo, I know you was a fan of mine |
| I know you was a fan of mine |
| I know you was a fan of mine |
| Here’s my card and on the back of it’s my fan club digits |
| Uh, aiyyo takin our spot, that’s outrageous |
| P and I stomp those who get courageous |
| And microphones get rocked on stages |
| Any book or mag, we on a few pages |
| Not commercial, not frontin, and no movie |
| I swear, cause we take it there |
| Billboard’s top ten, that’s tradition |
| Comin through blastin with mad ammunition |
| Five-alarmer, microphone bomber, woman charmer |
| Night in armor, penthouse view, with the sauna |
| God damnit, pass me the rock, and watch me slam it |
| Jam it cram it, until you stupid niggas understand it |
| It’s been a long time, MC crabbin bitch niggas runnin |
| Wack MC’s we straight stunnin |
| When we roll up, unexpected, undetected |
| Resurrected, EPMD second wind, fuel-injected |
| Word yeah, tell em P, yo |
| I never seen y’all before, when I came through |
| With my dogs headbangin with the — Hit Squad crew |
| Hardcore, we got biz from the get go |
| Any beef with us, we ain’t lettin shit go |
| E-Dub, no one replacin me |
| If there’s a spot, then find a vacancy |
| Boy, I own my style, while y’all got leases |
| I get the whole pie, while y’all get pieces |
| That’s why we own, bitin our shit, we don’t condone |
| News flash, Erick and Parrish, we got it sewn |
| And like I’m Damon we Dash for the cash, mash for the fash' |
| Bashin the rash, double up P, straight on smidash |
| So stop playin, serious like _So What Cha Sayin'?_ |
| In Apollo sold out with Redman, fuckin headbangin |
| To the street corners, the back alleys, to the Cali valleys |
| EPMD in effect, chillin as the scans tally |