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