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Refrain:

[Comin` straight from the Underground] 4x

Erick Sermon:

As I pump up a brand new funk swing

and bring back the chill of thrill from B.B. King.

Old fashioned is the way that I be waxin` a MC

I bust a grill and the reaction I check

inspect make sure the head`s wrecked;

[crunch] snap a neck for some live effects.

A machine my functioning that`s mean.

I stay together my man like Al Green.

I`m a slayer, the E-R-I-C-K and I`m back

to attack a punk chump that ain`t sayin` jack.

Boom, I`m buckwild when I`m stoned,

I close only one eye like a cyclone.

So I throw on my black shades that`s rhinestone,

summer to my Benz that`s outlined in chrome.

I`m the Grand Royal MC, I`m no joke.

I hit like a Phillie Blunt when it`s toked.

I smoke, an MC well-done, he gets done.

I`m knockin` out wack MCs like Michael Nunn.

Full-power, one punch, crunch, I`m throwin` bolos.

I`m strapped heavy, my handguns that`s solo.

I`m packed when it`s time to get down.

Cuz Erick Sermon`s comin` straight from the Underground...

Refrain 4x

PMD:

Okie dokie. My mind gets slow-pokey when I toke the

bull from a Phillie Blunt and I hope me

Old Gold is cold when I pop the cap.

Take a sip and then blitz, then crack a back with a rhyme sack.

Cuz I`m too smooth, pay my dues, and can`t lose.

I`m Top Gun, pullin` bitches like Tom Cruise.

And my main man, D-Wade, still gets paid.

And in the off-season, we vacate in the shade.

So all hail the Mary, crack the Moet,

blast the boom-box, then act like George and Jet-son.

Cuz my style, similar to Tae Kwon Do, but hey-yo,

I don`t kick or throw stars, this brother flows

to the funk track, with 808 drops for prop the top

of druggin` or thuggin, D.T.s or cops.

I say, no to blow and yes to cess and I suggest

you put a buck on Lotto, and if you win, you should invest

in a new grill, Bill, cuz I rock non- until

the Fat Lady sings, or Brooklyn starts to ill.

There`s a fat chance, with the brother bistro,

cuz I`m the master of the quadraverb and the echo.

There`s no time to stop, so P keep on steppin`

on the edge of the frame of the mind, the nine is the weapon.

That I choose to squeeze when a brother acts wild.

One slug to the head, mafioso style.

You catch a Universal beat down with sounds that pound,

watch yourself son, I`m comin` straight from the underground.

Refrain 2x

Refrain:

[Comin` straight from the Underground] 4x

Erick Sermon:

As I pump up a brand new funk swing

and bring back the chill of thrill from B.B. King.

Old fashioned is the way that I be waxin` a MC

I bust a grill and the reaction I check

inspect make sure the head`s wrecked;

[crunch] snap a neck for some live effects.

A machine my functioning that`s mean.

I stay together my man like Al Green.

I`m a slayer, the E-R-I-C-K and I`m back

to attack a punk chump that ain`t sayin` jack.

Boom, I`m buckwild when I`m stoned,

I close only one eye like a cyclone.

So I throw on my black shades that`s rhinestone,

summer to my Benz that`s outlined in chrome.

I`m the Grand Royal MC, I`m no joke.

I hit like a Phillie Blunt when it`s toked.

I smoke, an MC well-done, he gets done.

I`m knockin` out wack MCs like Michael Nunn.

Full-power, one punch, crunch, I`m throwin` bolos.

I`m strapped heavy, my handguns that`s solo.

I`m packed when it`s time to get down.

Cuz Erick Sermon`s comin` straight from the Underground...

Refrain 4x

PMD:

Okie dokie. My mind gets slow-pokey when I toke the

bull from a Phillie Blunt and I hope me

Old Gold is cold when I pop the cap.

Take a sip and then blitz, then crack a back with a rhyme sack.

Cuz I`m too smooth, pay my dues, and can`t lose.

I`m Top Gun, pullin` bitches like Tom Cruise.

And my main man, D-Wade, still gets paid.

And in the off-season, we vacate in the shade.

So all hail the Mary, crack the Moet,

blast the boom-box, then act like George and Jet-son.

Cuz my style, similar to Tae Kwon Do, but hey-yo,

I don`t kick or throw stars, this brother flows

to the funk track, with 808 drops for prop the top

of druggin` or thuggin, D.T.s or cops.

I say, no to blow and yes to cess and I suggest

you put a buck on Lotto, and if you win, you should invest

in a new grill, Bill, cuz I rock non- until

the Fat Lady sings, or Brooklyn starts to ill.

There`s a fat chance, with the brother bistro,

cuz I`m the master of the quadraverb and the echo.

There`s no time to stop, so P keep on steppin`

on the edge of the frame of the mind, the nine is the weapon.

That I choose to squeeze when a brother acts wild.

One slug to the head, mafioso style.

You catch a Universal beat down with sounds that pound,

watch yourself son, I`m comin` straight from the underground.

Refrain 2x

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