Epmd - Manslaughter Lyrics
[pmd] manslaughter (repeat 4x)Verse one: erick sermonCode name e-d, check on the one two threeBlack male hard mcRap record slave, a brother on the sceneWith a machine gun and one magazineWanted, a half a million for the body aloneTwo million for the microphoneIf you see him, dial 5 dash slayerA hotline to the governor and mayorHes armed wit ammo, a weapon thats mineAll black in rap, strap tech nineSilencer clipped, check the rip on the sneak tipThe boys about ta flipManslaughter (repeat 2x)They call him manslaughterManslaughterVerse two: pmdCode name md, rappin fanaticNo short taken, black asiaticHit man, keeps my belt unbuckledBook a look on my grill with no signs of a chuckleOr laughter, cause my name aint casperThe friendly ghost, but I smoke an mc if I have toQuick fast like alakazoo, alakazamAnd Ill be damned, cuz my rhymes slam like bam-bamRubble, partner code name is e-doubleIts those hazel green eyes that keep my man in troubleGirls ride the tip, brothers on his sacI had to change my name to bruce wayne, also known as bat-Man, and grab the bozack wit this handAs I slay ya manslaughterManslaughterThey call him manslaughterManslaughterVerse three: erick sermonMad man fully strapped and I quoteDont flex, last chump who did, he got smokedUndercover, not d-t but e-dAnd wonder why youre spinning my records on thirty-threeIm the original, never did crime, Im no criminalNo static, pack a forty-five automaticBlack cat strapped in rap, holding my johnsonWalking the streets, a vigilante charles bronsonAs the beat kick, face his plate on the m1 doneStyles sharper than the blade in shogunFirst suckers disrupt the brain of a sucker mcThat cant count one two threeI manage to damage, I roast the whole membraneInsane, like a basehead doing cocaineI kill a farmer, plus his daughterCause Im the e-double, and this is manslaughterThey call us manslaughterThey call it manslaughterManslaughterVerse four: pmdAs I stare deep into the mirror, I could only resortTo a hardcore gangsta, penile train of thoughtYoure stomped out, youre beat down, you go big top shitRun your trunk jewels or get, pistol whippedCause Im too swift to slip or miss a stitch on my rap hitSleep on a sucker and you still cant get withMe bro, wit this flow and I dont know judoGunflow is my style, say this so that you knowTheres no time to dance or romance with a nuisancePlay ya like a puppet to put some lead in ya pantsThen off you go to the rap rat packBe stripped of your mic, punk on your head we stamped bozackThats what the doctor orderedTake two of these, dead, manslaughterThey call it manslaughterThey call it manslaughterManslaughterTo the farmer and his daughter, manslaughter
