Текст песни Symphony 2000 - Method Man , Redman , EPMD

Yeah, uh, uh, Erick Sermon
Uh, EPMD, yeah, check it
Redman, Method Man, Lady Luck, Def Jam
Erick and Parrish, millennium ducats
Hold me down, hold me down, uh

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 in straight English, what the fuck you want?
Remember me? The punk faggot crab MC
Get your shit broke in half for fuckin' around with P
Ayo, strike two, my style Brooklyn like the Zoo
Hey you (Look, nigga), one more strike you through
Word is bid-ound, Rock, Esco, Ubu and Fat Fiddam
Every time I get my spit on, no doubt, I spark the cridon
Step up and bless the track and spit a jewel
P 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 rings hot
Make your neck snap back like a slingshot
E hustle (Uh), 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 nigga, makin' you smile with Scarface
Uh, it ain't my fault that my style sick enough to shock ya
Hit you with the fifth, blaka-blaka (Blaka-blaka)
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, get on the mic and rock the symphony (Haha, 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, huh?
My style dirty underground, all you prayin' punk
When it hits you, pain pumps Kool-Aid through the vein and shit
Snatch the trap then I dash like Damon, kid
Doc, walked in, red lines, the shell shock
Held, locked for fuckin' broads in nail shops
Hydro, got more bags than bellhops
Two thousand Benz on my eight by ten picture
Papi Chu, player crews in ICU
Battlin' usin' hockey rules
For Keith Murray, Doc gon' cock these tools (Haha)
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 (Uh), payin' them dues, nothin' to lose (Huh)
Street kids broken and bruised, eyein' your jewels (Huh)
Bad news, baring they souls through rhyme and blues
Hardcore, to make them brothers act fool
Hands on the steel, flip your heads over heels
Smell the daffodils from the lyric overkill (Uh)
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' theyselves like Parker Brothers
I rock for the low class, from low cash
The broke-ass, 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 (Uh)
John John Phenomenon
In Japan, they call me Ichiban
Wu-Tang Clan, number one
And the whole nine, I hold mine
Keep playin' with it, kid, you might go blind
Jerk-off, fucked up AKA, but 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

Misses stop, drop and roll (Huh?), rocks tops the gold
Hot, even though the veins is froze
Pop close range at foes, blaze them hoes
Leave 'em with they brains exposed
Stains flows, y'all better change your flows
Hear how Luck spittin' (Huh?), stay drunk pissin'
The S-Type stay whippin' (Woo), when the gun 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 (Word)
Style switchin' like tight-ass after stickin'
Man, listen, stop your cryin' and your bitchin'
Like E and P's last CD, you're outta business