Lyrics EPMD – House Party
Text:
It’s like this y’all it’s like that y’all
It’s like this y’all it’s like that y’all
It’s like this y’all it’s like that y’all
This is the year for the barbaric and the cats with skills
While you was pissin in your bed, we was makin a mill’
Got up, with Erick Sermon, dropped «you gots 2 chill»
Then niggas bugged, turned hardcore b-boy, slash thug
Givin fake love, with fake hugs, to fake thugs
With fake mugs, runnin they mouth with the place bugged
And caught a slug, and no one see nothin but mask and gloves
Aiyyo likewise I come in strong with no disguise, ruthless
It’s me, transformed I’m Eazy-E
Past the point of rockin the joint
I’m blowin the spot, wreckin the scene with my team
NFL: niggas for life, so feel that
I see a few clowns, so where’s the steel at
Me and my boys are ready, aim that and hold it steady
For those who dream, believe I’m Freddie
Now yo, if you got more dollars in your pocket
Put a peace sign in the air if you from the south Bronx
And let me hear you say
Hell yeah, hell yeah
Say hell yeah, hell yeah
Aiyyo, I grab the mic and strike, explode and ignite
Off the head, reminscin about some shit last night
No dough, in the pocket but that shit’s alright
And these faggots, always stress me so I keep my shit tight
Who am I? the cat to put that ass on standby
Fuck your sister, then chill with you, then tell her man hi
Takin it back to the seventy-sixers like Johnny Dawkins
Yo I come through camouflaged with the squadron entourage
Lookin like ghetto superstars
EPMD’s the name, there’s no mistaken
I rob you for all you got, and keep takin
The blah-blah buck off like a wild Jamaican
Earthquakin and dominatin the situation
Yes on the scene, the duo, thorough
Lettin off, causin ruckus in five boroughs
Yo this shout out goes to Brownsville, youknowhatI’msayin?
On
?
avenue, Newport garden squadron
Epmd, youknowhatI’msayin?
To the Brentwood posse, somebody just say
Make money money, make money money money
Make money money, make money money money
Everybody say make money money, make money money money
Make money money, make money money money
Yo, who grabs the mic and spit flows while you swing low
I’m high off the indo, but straight up, you gets no wins though
I like to ill, pop corks and watch the mo’ spill
Hundred dollar bills dippin po-nine while my niggas chill
Yo yoyoyoyoyoyoyoyo P chill chill chill
Niggas is in here fightin B
Yo lounge out man, god damn, niggas is always fuckin up shit
Just put some shit on they can dance to then
