E.M.A. ’92 lyrics

Uh uh uh uh X a few times

Push it back kid
Step the f*ck back, kill the drama
I be rippin' n*ggas like my name was Jeff Dahmer
I'm the mad bomber, droppin dead babies off the roofs
Splat flat upon the street, crazy hard like a beat
With a loop and a rhyme I design to cripple punks
Paraplegic, I flip strategic with the funk
I process by stress, then react on impact
Flip the f*ckin bacon, light the blunt that I pack
With pot, got all types: domestic and exotic
Big Words the motherf*ckin' pimp of narcotics
The drug head, thug pulls the plug on ya brain
Then activates the sh*t that hits like a freight train
So many rappers hate me cause I'm a sick f*ck, dude
I'll blow up a jew up, and that's tough luck
So let me kick back and smoke my hash
And all the non-believers you can eat my ass

Up ya f*ckin' nose with the motherf*ckin' hose
Big Words, you motherf*ckin' nerds like Pete Rose
I make mad hits, just like a cannabis fix... I flow
"Tick-tock," just like a bomb about to blow off
Body parts and limbs, I lick shots & blood clots
That so-called friends, but just (?) of played-out plots
Behind my back they're talking trash
Cause I cash large cheques, and they get vexed
When I flex the ILL complex compulsive
Dead celebrities rap repulsive...
And so the dead-up result is...
They gettin' jealous, cause I got the cash
But all the backstabbers you can eat my ass
Phat like a gat or like a gun... n*gga run
Yo my brain's like an Uzi, and my Uzi weighs a ton
Twist your fist around the mic if you wanna...
But if you step to me you're goin' out like Tawana
Smeared with feces, I increased the deceased
The body count peaks, when you're dealing with the dead freak
I think by now they know I keep the talk business
The snakes are going out the grass with the quickness
Talkin' crazy sh*t like I should change my style
But f*ck that bullsh*t, I plan to stay foul
I know I'm gonna have the last laugh
So all you f*ckin' fakes you can eat my ass