Symphony 2000 (feat. Redman, Method Man & Lady Luck)

Yeah, Erick Sermon, EPMD

Yeah, check it

Redman, Method Man, Lady Luck, Def Jam

Erick and Parrish Millennium Ducats

Hold me down, hold me down

Yo, I grab the mic and grip it hard like it's my last time to shine

I want the chrome and the cream, so I put it down for mine

Ill cat, slick talk, slang New York

To break it down to straight English, what the fuck you want?

Remember me? You punk faggot-crab emcee

Get your shit broke in half for fuckin' around with P

Ayo, strike two, my style Brooklyn like the Zoo

Hey you, look ****, one more strike you through

Word is bi-dond, rock Esco, FUBU, and Phat Fi-darm

Every time I get my spit on, no doubt, I spark the gridiron

I step up and bless the track and spit a jewel

We keeps cool, no need for static, I strap tools

Next up

Yo, I believe that's me

Yo, get on the mic and rock the Symphony

Yo, P, time to rock

The sound I got, it reigns hot

Makin' necks snap back, like a slingshot

E hustle, and muscle my way in

Then tussle for days in, on my own with guns blazin'

Not for the fun of it, just for those who want me to run it

Then leave them like, "Who done it?"

Sucka duck, I do what I feel right now

When I spit the illest shit, cats be like, "Wow!"

Yo, I get looks when I'm in the place

That's that ****, makin' you smile with Scarface

It ain't my fault, that my style, Silkk enough to shock you

Hit you with the fifth, block-a block-a

If I get caught you can bet I'll blow trial

Be Downtown Swingin', M.O.P. style

Next up

Yo, yo, it's Funk D.O.C.

Yo, you're on the mic to rock the Symphony

Yo, yo, did you ever think you would catch a cap?

Yo, did you ever think you would get a slap?

Yo, did you ever think you would get robbed

At gunpoint, stripped, and thrown out the car?

It's Funk Doc, you know my name, ho

My style dirty underground, or Ukraine po'

When it hits you, pain pumps Kool-Aid through the vein and shit

Snatch the trap, then I dash like Damon did

Doc, walk thin ted lines to shell shock

Hair lock with fuckin' broads in nail shops

Hydro? Got more bags than bellhops

Two thousand Benz on my eight by ten picture

Papichu', slayin' crews in ICU

Battlin', usin' hockey rules

For Keith Murray, Doc gon' cock these tools

Rollin' down like dice in Yahtzee, fool

I "Just Do It" like Nike do

Outta 'Bama, with ten kids with hammers, hooked to a camper

Yo, next up

It's the G-O-D

Yo, yo, get on the mic for the Symphony

Youth on the move, payin' them dues, nothin' to lose

Street kids, broken and bruised, eyein' your jewels

Bad news, bearin' they souls through rhyme and blues

"Hardcore" to make them brothers act fool

Hands on the steel, flip your heads over heel

Smell the daffodils from the lyric overkill

Feelin' like the mack inside a Cadillac Seville

Too ill, on cuts, the Barber of Seville, Figaro

The sky is fallin', Geronimo

I feel my high comin' down, look out below

Ayo, dead that roach clip and spark another

Chickenhawks, playin' they selves like Parker Brothers

I rock for the low-class, from Locash

The broke-assed, even rock for trailer park trash

Yeah, yeah, the God on your block like Godzilla

Yeah, yeah, she gave away my pussy, I'ma kill her

John, John, phenomenon, in Japan they call me Ichiban

"Wu-Tang Clan, number one"

In the whole nine, I hold mine

Keep playin' with it, kid, you might go blind, jerk off

Fuck them a.k.a., for now it's just Meth

That's it, that's all, solo, single, no more, no less

Next up

I believe that's me

(Bastard) Get on the mic and rock the Symphony

Mrs. Stop Drop and Roll, rocks top the gold

Hot, even though dames froze

Pop close range at foes, blaze them hoes

Leave 'em with they brains exposed, stains clothes

Y'all better change your flows, hear how Luck spittin'?

Stay drunk-pissed in the S-Type, stay whippin'

When the guns spittin', duck or get hittin'

It's written, we in the game but ball different

Point game like Jordan, y'all play the role of Pippen

Style switchin', like tight ass after stickin'

Man, listen, stop your cryin' and your bitchin'

Like E and P's last CD, you're out of business