Check 1, 2 Lyrics[Verse 1: Erick Sermon]
EPMD.. Def Jam.. blazin..
Check it, uh-huh, YO
It's E-Dub on the microphone
My style be Elektra, I'm the male Syl Rhome
Homes, walk around with forty-four chrome
On safety, spike the mic in the end zone
This here ain't the average shit, you used to
Front, and automatic rounds, will shoot you
So knock it off, like Biggie Smalls said Duke you soft
Why you wanna fuck with the boss?
[Verse 2: Parrish Smith]
Where should I start? Breakin' MC's or shatterin' charts?
It's Diablo, PMD Mic Doc with the purple heart
The go-getter, getter, get wit 'er, hit 'er-split 'er
Front and back, and if she wit it, straight in the shitter
So heidi heidi heidi hydro, pack gats and ammo
Funky Piano, van like the fuckin' [tano?]
With more cheese than Lambeau, more heat than Rambo
Break down dismantle when I scramble
[Chorus: Erick Sermon (Parrish Smith)]
I just get down, and I go for mines
Say check 1, 2 -- and run down the line
(Inclined to shine) with techs and (forty-four mags and nines)
Don't get too close because you might get shot
X2
[Verse 3: Erick Sermon]
Uhh, yo, ey, and yo
EPMD, fuckin' with us is bad news
Me and you got different views
What you might say is dope, I say's not
What I might call whack, you'll call hot
The best thing for you, is to think and hope
Or get choked, and hung with The Velvet Rope
Cause you too theatrical, mess around
And end up smackin' you, jackin' you, attackin' you
[Verse 4: Parrish Smith]
That's why it's crucial, so stay neutral to collect the cash
Double beaucoup, just rippin' up mics, is what my crew do
Whatever suits you, pull out the burner, fuck the shoot through
Roadblocks and smear campaigns, with the two-two
Or tech nine, that'll chew, through your waistline
I'm accurate, don't waste mine, spit on baseline
Run with the unseen potential to be on Dateline
I don't fake mine, you blaze crazy, while I pace mine
[Verse 5: Erick Sermon]
Yeah, now why y'all wanna mess with the vets?
We've been doin' this shit, since Dear Yvette, check
I make shit that make you wanna smack your producer
And ice grill him, and make you wanna kill him dead
And walk around leakin', in the bed for the weekend
For playin' with the last Mohican
[Madi gon?] - that's fuck you in Puerto Rican
Keep quiet when you hear grown men speakin'
[Verse 6: Parrish Smith]
Or get smacked, this ain't no game, the shit is serious
Delerious, that's how we leave cats and niggas curious
The true legend, got caught shit you better call Kevin
Big like Dog 40 and the Dutch from the 7-11
I'm danger like Norris the Texas Ranger
The mic strangler, PMD, the fuckin' Head Banger
Mo' skills fo' real for them cats that kill
Pump a nine on the reg behind penitentiary steel
[Chorus]
