Songtexte: EPMD. Symphony 2000.

Yeah, Erick Sermon, EPMD, yeah, check it
Redman, Method Man, Lady Luck, Def Jam
Erick and Parrish Millenium 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
Aiyyo 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

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 nigga, makin' you smile with Scarface
It ain't my fault, that my style Silkk 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 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 Hoe
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 red lines to shell shock

Hairlock 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, 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, nuttin' to lose
Huh, street kids, broken and bruised, eyein' yo' jewels
Huh, bad news, barin' they souls through rhymin' blues
Hardcore to make them brothers act fool
Hands on the steel, flip you 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 lookout below
Aiyyo, dead that roach clip and spark another

Chickenhawks, playin' theyselves 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, numba won
In the whole nine, I hold mine
Keep playin' with it kid, you might go blind, jerkoff
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 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 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