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Emerick is dead and he ain't never coming back You should have been nicer when he was blazing up the tracks No well-wishers, just bitches talking trash 'Cause the aftermath is saying that scrab is whack (Emerick is dead!) On arrival, watch his rivals revel the jealous Relish the moment their opponent went sublevel Six feet under, what a bummer, it's no wonder the waste Could have been a contender, now maggots march on his face Emerick's often in his coffin, lyin' down, lost in thought Groupies gather at the grave and done throw posies on the pot Haters hate off in the distance, telescoping with binoc's Smoking basket after laughing, get their knickers in knots They play, in the park, in the dark, where they spark a spliff Raise it high in the sky and cry "This hit is for Emerick" Then they tell a tale of how he really was a pimp Hands wanted to be on, just want to be on his dick