Check 1, 2 Lyrics - Out Of Business - Epmd

[Erick Sermon] 

EPMD 

Def Jam 

Blazing 

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 endzone 

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 want to fuck with the boss? 

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[Parrish Smith] 

Where should I start? Breakin MC's or shattering 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 fucking ?tano? 

With more cheese than Lambeau, more heat than Rambo 

Break down dismantle when I scramble 

[Chorus: x2] 

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 

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[Erick Sermon] 

Uhh, yo, and yo 

EPMD, fucking 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 wack, 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 smacking you, jacking you, attacking you 

[Parrish Smith] 

That's why it's crucial, so stay neutral to collect the cash 

Double beaucoup, just ripping 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 

[Erick Sermon] 

Yeah, now why y'all want to mess with the vets? 

We've been doing this shit, since Dear Yvette, check 

I make shit that make you want to smack your producer 

And ice grill him, and make you want to kill him dead 

And walk around leaking, in the bed for the weekend 

For playing with the last Mahican 

Madi gon, that's fuck you in Puerto Rican 

Keep quiet when you hear grown men speaking 

[Parrish Smith] 

Or get smacked, this ain't no game, the shit is serious 

Delirious, that's how we leave cats and niggaz 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 fucking Head Banger 

Mo' skills fo' real for them cats that kill 

Pump a nine on the reg behind penitentiary steel 

[Chorus x 2] 

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