Countdown

[Verse 1: Erick Sermon] For she's perhaps quite clever On the mic, I'm Wizard, call me Chris Webber Scary, wise, I'm way past terror I make like Jay-Z, then Roc-a-Fella Rock 'em out the club Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne From the bar compliments of E-Dub I be the one to cause the confusion Twist your mind to pieces, make ya think I'm losin' Yeah, niggas try to provoke me But, I'm a tower god, so, there ain't no hope Bitches like dope E, so, I resume If they step I Buck-a-Shot like I'm Black Moon Let me ask you's, Y'all Feel That like Erykah Control the states and make a Def America My styles legit, peep the steez a bit It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol Word to the Preacher's Wife, I got the power to annoint ya And keep them shiesty folks on point I'm the butler, servin' MC's because I love to N-O, quote, You're a Customer [Verse 2: Redman] I put you in your right mind and frame I de-rail tracks and rappers like Doc designed the train All aboard with the Def Squad, if you can hang My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame Fuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em Young, just wanna have fun, like little Just' and 'em But, Doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin' Whether it be weed, dope or coke My athlete flow make Doc show, soak his toes Make niggas bow down, when I'm drunk off Gold Crown Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round Jump out a tree, land on your neck From the moment you start pumpin' Redman in your deck You be like, "Damn, that's what I ride for" If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on July fourth Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit If you came to brawl, we love to get involved My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl [Chorus: PMD] MCs, it's the final countdown You look tired can you go the round If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit If not, I'll turn around and say forget it MCs, it's the final countdown You look tired can you go the round If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit If not, I'll turn around and say forget it [Verse 3: Keith Murray] Yeah, nobody rock harder than this Closed jaw, stone face, clip fist, mic extremist And I doubt it, you could kiss my ass and make a love song about it 'Cause I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it Yeah, wantin' to battle with me As hard as it get Niggas in jail watchin' Soul Train, turn off the TV Lyrical vet, flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet You talk shit, you deserve what you get I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the Mobb Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities Simultaneously, with communication capabilities From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy I will instantaneously bust an MC The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter And make you exercise your shit up, nigga [Verse 4: Jamal] These niggas is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos Who wanna toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow Def Squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor .45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggas Same niggas takin' this squad shit for a joke Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope They're cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower Live form NYC, E, Red keepin' me, Mally G Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium Phony tough Tony ones, we dip dip die in the place How's That was some hardcore rap Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats 'Bout to black out on all you wack cats [Chorus: PMD] MC's it's the final countdown You look tired can you go the round If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit If not, I'll turn around and say forget it MC's it's the final countdown You look tired can you go the round If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit If not, I'll turn around and say forget it