Run It

Hardcore

Everybody on the floor, everybody on the floor

PMD, Erick Sermon

You what it is, listen to my man

Run your jewelry

Hands up

Yes, Peace to Just Ice

Be scared

Bronx



Yo, the real dynamic duo, and i quote

G boys, I bring it back to a droopy rope, dope

I sport like I if I spit the commandments

So inspired, now who the hell your man wit?

And he's gangsta right?

He belong in a dimwit type

You picked the wrong night

I'ma Las Vegas fight Don King in the ring

Does my thing from father spring, that's all year

I can feel in a wannabe rapper turned actor

He wanna act tough it hit him with the clapper

Def-con actor, see I ain't playing kid

He screamed and I'ma just saying he did

EPMD I'm scared for us

Cause someone might bite the dust

We don't rush shower

The power I got is snappin' necks

So I suggest ya show respect

We own that



[Chorus: x2]

Now put your hand in the air

Keep 'em there

Run your jewels, run it

Run your jewels, run it

Run your jewels, motherfucker



You heard what we said man, we ain't playin'

Don't wait till it starts sprayin'

We set it of while the DJ playin'

Run your jewels, run it

Run your jewels, motherfucker



Cats walking past your crib, walk in your house

Go in your mouth, talkin' you out

But EMS we spying we carryin' you out

With the slow IV fee

Woken the fuck up, back eye with the nose bleed

My dudes be like dude chill

I be like fuck chill

Cats complainin' bout the game, pass the pill

EPMD is too real, y'all know

The only reason why you eatin', cause we payed the bill

How many times I got to tell you the shit shut down

'til Erick and Parrish return and hold the B-Boys down

Step through the door, hot body and lick off the ground

Uhu, I see niggaz listening now

Faces is wrecked like wild

There goes EMP with the fisherman hat

Four back, get hit with the gun pow

Respect the gods, excuse me, I beg your pa

Can't hear you, you got to grade up, cause the beats too hard



[Chorus]



I bring the heat quick

I do it, kill Ramone in Beat Street

I get the club rockin' on some seasick shit

I ain't gotta tell you I'm hood man, you can see I'm it

My rhyme hits, I don't preach 'bout cash

cause most of y'all know cash like E-Zpass

You came in talkin' bout you gon beat me

Then you left out talkin' bout "just give me two more CDs"

You're young so you need to be gangsters

While real G's wanna sit home and read the paper

Courtside view with the LA Lakers

But its always some youngin' you got to send to his maker

And i don't need the ratchet to reach your ass

I'm old school I off you with a peace of glass

Run your jewels, you know who it be, KRS-EPMD



[Chorus]