[Intro]
Total chaos, no mass confusion
Total chaos, no mass confusion
Total chaos, no mass confusion
No mass confusion

[Verse 1: Erick Sermon]
Yo, what's up, money grip? It's the E on the trip
Not to Georgia, but Gladys Knight and the Pips
It's a one way ticket to the highest plateau
For a smooth rapper and for those that flow
So blow like the wind, my friend, and take flight
And fly like an eagle, yeah, right
You can't rock a party and make hands clap-a
'Cause you an N.R.er (that means a non-rapper)
So give it up, sucker duck MC, you're not ready
To flex yet, or better yet rock steady
With the E Double, number one on the planet
Take it for granted, I'm "In Control" like Janet
I'm in command, plus full of fun
But don't play me, 'cause if you do you gettin' done
And that, my son, comes to one conclusion
Total chaos...no mass confusion

[Verse 2: Parrish Smith]
Knock, knock (Ayo, who is it?)
The one who storms on rappers just like a snow blizzard
Yes, the microphone doctor's back makin' house calls
To crab MCs who claim to have the balls
To flex with the man, with the rep for snappin' necks
I'm not the one son, so don't pose or make threats
The PMD, yeah Paid and Makin' Dollars
Stranglin' MCs with the microphone cord and make 'em holler
I'm like Quick Draw McGraw when I blast past
An MC's ass, then trash crash to smash his ass
And play his ego, while I sip a forty-oh
And count my cashflow, because I'm on the go
And, ayo, I don't joke, and that, you can bet
I flex a rhyme on a rapper, play his posse and step
Like I said in "Strictly Biz," I'm known to cause an illusion
To create total chaos, no mass confusion
[Verse 3: Erick Sermon]
No magic tricks, Houdini, or I Dream of Jeannie
Or disappearing acts from here to Tahiti
It's a one, two, three count and I'm knockin' out
Without a doubt (Why, E?) I got clout
Homeboy you should know, I'm de commando of rap
Carry MCs, no trees across my bare back
I use measures, and yes, all are drastic
For me, the E Double, 'cause I'm fantastic
So I let you know, money, I don't play
Step back and you won't get smacked, hear what I say?
Lay low, afro, or take a nightcap
And if you tired (Yo, then go take a nap)
Or close your eyes and chank 'em like a Jap
Then lounge as I rock across the map
Yo watch me go, flame dust in seconds
Me and PMD and the sound from our records
Check out the beat and the style I'm usin'
It's total chaos, no mass confusion

[Verse 4: Parrish Smith]
Last rhyme was for E, this one's for the Gipper
Give me room...'cause I'm about to rip a
MC's head off as I release my steam
The method of decapitation, is the guillotine
So check out the tempo, and let your body go
'Cause a brother like MD's about to go Rambo
A Microphone Doctor, an MC physician
An all around scholar, a rapper technician
So put up or shut up 'cause MD is, like, fed up
You, your wack crew, your whole damn set up
Suckers still slippin', you better get a grip and
Change your wack style while the clock still tickin'
'Cause pursuin' and doin' a brother is second nature
Can you feel it, E Double? (Yeah, somethin' like fader)
To the Microphone Doctor, all rappers are obsolete
You lack style and composure, plus your rhymes are weak
I gave you all due respect, when I said, "Mic check"
You're still slippin', duke, it's time to snap that neck
Like I said in "Strictly Biz," I'm known to cause an illusion
To create total chaos, no mass confusion