| Hey young world, one two, one two
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| Check it out yall
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| Uhh, shadz of lingo in the house
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| E doubles in the house with def squad
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| On the funky fresh track with shadz of lingo
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| Mic check one two, yo you got my nerves jumpin around
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| And _humpin around_ like bobby brown across town
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| I aint with that, so dont cramp my style
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| Step off me, Im hyped like I had a pound of coffee
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| Yo how could you ask what Im doin
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| When Im pursuin, gettin funky with my crew and
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| My input brings vibes unknown like e.t.
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| Makes me phone home to my family
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| Cling, hello mom, Im doin it, freakin more fame
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| Than batman played by michael keaton
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| I crossed over, let me name someone thats black
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| With fame, and pockets that are fat
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| Heyyy, erick sermon, hes one
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| Packs a gun, thats bigger than malcolms
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| Out the window, I look for a punk to get stupid
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| So I can shoot his ass like cupid
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| E 2 bingos, down with the shadz of lingo
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| Here to bust out the funky single
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| Ahh shit, there goes my pager
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| Ill see you later, because yo Chorus: erick sermon
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| Every now and then, I get a little crazy (4x)
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| One two how can I do it? |
| I guess Ill spit the real
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| Yo I pack much dick, with the cover made of steel hoe
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| Yes yes, never fessed or settled for less
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| One clown stepped, and got a hole in the fuckin chest
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| From the a.k., somebody scream mayday
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| Took the sucker out, cause he clowned me on a payday
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| The funk is flowin to the maximum
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| From the e double, while I kick the facts to them
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| Check a chill brother with class, rough enough
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| To run up and snatch the spine out a niggaz ass
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| Grip the steel when caps peeled, here to chill on the real
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| And dont give a motherfuck how you feel
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| Thinkin youre steppin to this, I kinda doubt it Aint with the bullshit, so you can write a fuckin book about it The big nigga with the bud and Im on that
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| E kick the beat and yo you shoulda known that
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| Yo its the lingo of the shadz
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| Droppin that mellow but mad mackadocious
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| Melodious metaphorical music with mo shit
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| That you used to, and stylin that you aint
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| What else I got to do but draw the pictures with paints?
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| oh no, theres my mic squeakin
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| A soundmans body turnin up every weekend
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| Some think I done the killin, you know I cant remember
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| I cant recall a full week since this past december
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| And mics catchin fire fore I get the chance to touch em Yo al. |
| b catch the buddha lightin torches, ima bust em But dont rush em, leave the pyromaniac alone he heard the words
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| To hit em on the red dot and knows Im thinkin bout murder
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| Run hide you cant escape
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| The hit on, I got the papes
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| Dodge red lasers scannin
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| Brings fly rhymes landin
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| Let me go. |
| no. |
| yo, Im straight
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| Chill, yo I need auhhhh, air, wait
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| Cross fade a killer style and
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| Wheres the soundman
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| Tell me was I whylin
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| Cause
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| Hey young world
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| Check me out, check me, check me out
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| Hey young world
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| New yorks in the house
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| Def squads in the motherfuckin, house
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| New yorks in the motherfuckin, house
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| Rowdy records in the motherfuckin, house
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| Def squads in the motherfuckin, house
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| E.d.s in the motherfuckin house (def jam boy)
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| Shadz of lingo in the motherfuckin house
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| Peace. |
| and we out (russell simmons boy)
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| Word |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Lil Crazy , by - Erick Sermon. Song from the album No Pressure, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп