I'm Mad

(álbum: Business As Usual - 1990)

It's the E, and I'm smoking
Wild like Tone Loc, I'm roastin, baking MCs
The E I'm not joking so back up, punk, slack up
Watch your weak posse, before they get smacked up
One by one, two by two, three by three, Yo P... (What's Up, E.D.?)
Pass the Uzi, to blow up, any wack MC that show up
There goes one, blast 'im now (E, hold up)
Don't make me wait-wait because it might be too late, the punk might escape
And buck whyle, and in fact, bite my style, and I'm-a catch a bullshit charge plus trial
It's my thing to swing, your first mistake to bring a duck MC that can't hang
Don't forget, I'm crazy swift
My name is Erick Sermon (Yeah, and I'm Parrish Smith)
I could act foolish, start blasting. Ha ha ha ha, now who's laughin'?
I'm-a let ya slide, but ya owe me, next time you see me... (Holler like ya know me!)
I'm mad...

(Here's a little story, I've gots to tell) (I'm mad!)...

My life story I tell straight from the heart
When suckers tried to crash my shit straight from start
A young black kid destined for success, no Old Gold, no cocaine, or buddha cess
Straight up hard work. No sleep and no shorts
Brainstorming with the skills that Pop Duke taught
To keep swinging, yeah, and not to quit
Now I ride the Benz, you ride the dick, with your punk friends
Straight up pussy from Punk City, my attitude's fucked up and real shitty
From the backstabbers, yeah my so-called friends
Who swim in my pool. When it's time, flex the Benz
Around town, windows down at the South Town, Cool J tape or K-Solo "Spellbound"
With fly girlies dippin, brothers gripping and sipping
Old Gold, Red Bull, hands on my dick and
I'm just lamping with my EK shades, truck-jewels, obviously the man's paid
But of course not, brother can't get his props
Like for instance, when I cruise up the block
In my 560 lamping on my Metro phone, chrome kit beaming all off your dome
But like a sucka, yeah, you looked the other way
That's how I knew you're on my dick kid, but it's okay
It's normal, relax, your whole head's busted
Caught in the rap skit, ya couldn't be trusted
'Cause my sounds pound from here to Okinowi... peace and I'm out!

(Here's a little story, I've gots to tell) (I'm mad!)...

Stay tuned to this last episode, when I rock the house and the mic explodes
This is not the buckwild style that I be using, in fact black it causes (mass confusion)
It's a fallout, when sucker MCs and crowds call out my name
Oh what a shame I got (fame!)
I'm not a new jack, my rhymes are not wack, and in fact
I'm like Clint Eastwood, 'stead of bullets, rhymes I pack
In my flow gun, so son, ya better run
'Cause when it comes to hostage and prisoners, we take none
We move wax like kilos...
And when my jam hits the streets, the sounds explode
Watch the right hook, duck the death blow jack
I wonder where the E and the P's at...
(Can they do it again?) You bet your ass, black
(See you in '91) Until things get the bozack... (I'm mad...)

(Here's a little story, I've gots to tell) (I'm mad!)...