Luyện nghe bài hát Symphony 2000

Yeah, Erick Sermon, EPMD, yeah, it
Redman, Man, Lady Luck, Def Jam
Erick and Parrish Millenium
Hold me down, hold me

Yo, I grab the mic and grip it hard it's my last time to shine
I want the chrome and the so I put it down for mine
Ill cat, slick talk, New York
To it down to straight English, what the fuck you want?
Remember me? You punk faggot crab
Get your shit broke in half for around with P
Aiyyo strike two, my Brooklyn like the Zoo
Hey you, look nigga, one more strike you
Word is bi-dond, rock Esco, Fubu, and Phat
time I get my spit on, no doubt, I spark the gridiron
I step up and bless the track and spit a
We keeps cool, no need for static, I strap
up

Yo, I believe me
Yo, get on the mic and rock the

Yo P, time to rock, the I got, it reigns hot
Makin' snap back, like a slingshot
E hustle, and my way in
Then for days in, on my own with guns blazin'
Not for the fun of it, for those who want me to run it
Then leave like who done it?
Sucka duck, I do I feel right now
When I the illest shit, cats be like, "Wow!"
Yo! I get when I'm in the place
That's that nigga, makin' you with Scarface
It ain't my fault, my style Silkk enough to shock ya
Hit you the fifth, block-a block-a
If I get caught you can bet I'll blow
Be downtown swingin', M.O.P.
up

Yo yo, Funk D.O.C.
Yo, you're on the mic to the symphony

Yo yo, did you think you would catch a cap?
Yo, did you ever think you get a slap?
Yo, did you ever think you get robbed
At gunpoint, and thrown out the car?
Funk Doc, you know my name Hoe
My dirty underground, or Ukraine po'
When it hits you, pain pumps Kool-Aid, through the vein and
Snatch the trap then I like Damon did
Doc, walk, thin red lines to shell

Hairlock with fuckin' in nail shops
Got more bags than bellhops
Two thousand on my eight by ten picture
Papichu', crews in ICU
Battlin', hockey rules
For Keith Murray, Doc cock these tools
Rollin' down like in Yahtzee fool
I "Just do it" Nike, outta 'Bama
With ten with hammers, hooked to a camper
Yo, up

the G O D
Yo yo, get on the mic for the

Youth on the move, them dues, nuttin' to lose
Huh, street kids, and bruised, eyein' yo' jewels
Huh, bad news, barin' they souls rhymin' blues
Hardcore to make them brothers act
on the steel, flip you heads over heel
Smell the daffodils the lyric overkill
Feelin' like the mack inside a Cadillac
Too ill, on cuts, the of Seville, figaro
The sky is fallin',
I feel my high comin' lookout below
Aiyyo, dead that clip and spark another

Chickenhawks, playin' theyselves like Parker
I rock for the low-class, from
The broke-assed, even rock for park trash
Yeah yeah, the God on your block Godzilla
Yeah yeah, she away my pussy I'ma kill her
John John phenomenon, in they call me Ichiban
Wu-Tang Clan, won
In the nine, I hold mine
Keep playin' with it kid, you might go blind,
Fuck them A.K.A., for now just Meth
That's it, that's all, solo, no more no less

up
I believe me

Get on the mic and the symphony

Mrs. Stop and Roll, rocks top the told
Hot, even though dames is
Pop close range at foes, and blaze hoes
Leave 'em with they brains exposed, and on clothes
Y'all better your flows, hear how Luck spittin'?
Stay drunk-pissed in the S-Type, stay
the guns spittin', duck or get hittin'
It's written, we in the game but different
Point game like Jordan, y'all the role of Pippen
Style switchin', tight ass after stickin'
Man listen, stop cryin' and your bitchin'
Like E and P's last CD, out of business