That I choose to squeeze when a brother acts wild. Cuz Erick Sermon's comin' straight from the Underground. I hit like a Phillie Blunt when it's toked. Cuz my style, similar to Tae Kwon Do, but hey-yo, I don't kick or throw stars, this brother flows to the funk track, with 808 drops for prop the top of druggin' or thuggin, D. My mind gets slow-pokey when I toke the bull from a Phillie Blunt and I hope me Old Gold is cold when I pop the cap. Search and download from millions of songs and albums.
Cuz I'm too smooth, pay my dues, and can't lose. You catch a Universal beat down with sounds that pound, watch yourself son, I'm comin' straight from the underground. So all hail the Mary, crack the Moet, blast the boom-box, then act like George and Jet-son. One slug to the head, mafioso style. I'm a slayer, the E-R-I-C-K and I'm back to attack a punk chump that ain't sayin' jack. I'm strapped heavy, my handguns that's solo.
So I throw on my black shades that's rhinestone, summer to my Benz that's outlined in chrome. I'm packed when it's time to get down. And in the off-season, we vacate in the shade. A machine, my functioning, that's mean. . Take a sip and then blitz, then crack a back with a rhyme sack.
I say, no to blow and yes to cess and I suggest you put a buck on Lotto, and if you win, you should invest in a new grill, Bill, cuz I rock non- until the Fat Lady sings, or Brooklyn starts to ill. I stay together, my man, like Al Green. There's no time to stop, so P keep on steppin' on the edge of the frame of the mind, the nine is the weapon. Boom, I'm buckwild when I'm stoned, I close only one eye like a cyclone. Live concert albums of your favorite band. Full-power, one punch, crunch, I'm throwin' bolos. And my main man, D-Wade, still gets paid.
Learn how to download music. I'm Top Gun, pullin' bitches like Tom Cruise. There's a fat chance, with the brother bistro, cuz I'm the master of the quadraverb and the echo. . . . .
. . . . . .
. . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . .