EPMD, KRS-One - Run It lyrics

Hardcore
Everybody on the floor, everbody 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 dooky 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'mma Las Vegas fight Don King in the ring
Does my thing from father spring
Thats all year
I can feel in a wannbe 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'mma just saying he did
EPMD I'm scared for us
Cause someone might bite the dust
Before rush hour
The power I got is snappin necks
So I suggest ya show respect we own that

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 juwels, 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 niggas 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


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 hit's, I don't preach 'bout cash
Cause most of yall 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 it's 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 piece of glass
Run your jewels, you know who it be, KRS-EPMD