Symphony 2000 Lyrics - Epmd

Yeah, Erick Sermon, EPMD, 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 fagot crab emcee 

Get your shit broke in half for fucking around with p 

Hey yo strike two, my style Brooklyn like the zoo 

Hey you, look nigga, 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! 

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Yo I believe that's me 

Yo, get on the mic and rock the symphony 

[Erick Sermon] 

Yo p! 

Time to rock, the sound I got, it reigns hot 

Making necks snap back, like a slingshot 

E hustle, and muscle my way in 

Then tussle for days in, on my own with guns blazing 

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

Then leave them like, who done it? 

Sucker 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, making you +smile+ with Scarface 

It ain't my fault, that my style silk enough to shock ya 

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

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

Be downtown swinging, m.o.p. style 

Next up! 

Photos 

Yo yo it's funk d.o.c. 

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

[Redman] 

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 hoe 

My style dirty underground, or Ukraine po' 

When it hits you, pain pumps cool-aid, through the vein and shit 

Snatch the trap then I dash like Damon did 

Doc, walk thin red lines to shell shock 

Hair lock with fucking broads in nail shops 

Hydro? got more bags than bellhops 

Two thousand Benz on my eight by ten picture 

Papichu', slaying gcrews in icu 

Battling, using hockey rules 

For Keith Murray, doc gon' cock these tools 

Rollin down like dice in Yahtzee fool! 

I "just do it" like Nike, 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 

[Method] 

Youth on the move, paying them dues, nothing to lose 

Huh, street kids, broken and bruised, eyeing yo' jewels 

Huh, bad news, baring they souls through rhyming blues 

Hardcore! to make them brothers act fool 

Hands on the steel, flip you heads over heel 

Smell the daffodils from the lyric overkill 

Feeling like the mack inside a Cadillac Seville 

Too ill, on cuts, the barber of Seville, fi-ga-ro! 

The sky is falling, Geronimo! 

I feel my high coming down, lookout below! 

Hey yo! dead that roach clip and spark another 

Chicken hawks, playing 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 phenom-enon, in japan they call me ichiban 

Wu-tang clan, number won! 

In the whole nine, I hold mine 

Keep playing 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 

[Lady Luck] 

Mrs. stop drop and roll, rocks top the told 

Hot, even though dames is froze 

Pop close range at foes, and blaze them hoes 

Leave em with they brains exposed, and stains on clothes 

Y'all better change your flows, hear how luck spitting? 

Stay drunk-pissed in the s-type, stay whipping 

When the guns spitting, duck or get hitting 

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

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

Style switching, like tight ass after sticking 

Man listen, stop your crying and your bitching 

Like e and p's last CD, you're out of business