Artist: Phil Anastasia f/ Inspectah Deck, Sean Price, The Last American B-Boy Album: The Outfit LP Song: Symphonies Typed by: Cno Evil [Intro: Inspectah Deck] You hear the angels? [Inspectah Deck] Cover me, I'm going in, there I go again I soldier, there is none known to men holding him Whether foe or friend, both of them, I've told 'em, I'm home again It's on again, I know shit is real, I don't pretend I'm not supposed to bend, or focus on scoping ends Living out a movie, escape from the holding pens A slot work'll cost you over ten, I see you Through the scope lens, just when you think you closing in And all around the world they know Slim I never gave her money, but now and then, let her hold a gem Like I drop at a soul descent, cover me, there's no repent The chosen sin, peep the word and leave the master's dome bent Only close to him, his closest kin It's like being reincarnated, just to blow again Wild snakes still closing in, smile with the cobra grin Rebel lies, no defense, the war's on, load your M [Phil Anastasia] Aiyo, I'm nicer than Ned Flanders, this ain't no match-up You act up, will slap your back up dancers Answers from the wrong places, gangstas and pimps Distort the image that's reflected in they tints Since this hip hop has gone snap, crackle and pop I'm dropping rock rap yo, Yacko, Wacko & Dot Animated maniacs, I have to go to the party All on the rap game and you lames can't stop me Back a forty and suburban, dropping verses Got doctors and nurses, wrapping up some turbans It's Suburban Commando, on some John Rambo Belligerent, deliverance, I'm strumming my banjo Flying off the handle, going sciszo, nuts My mic's a needle, and a thread, I got the shit sown up Jokers try to provoke me, like these kids don't suck It's like Iron Man facing off with Gizmo Duck You fucking jerk off... [The Last American B-Boy] I drink forty ounces and curse like a fucking sailor Got locked up two times for drug paraphernalia Staten Island son, grab the gun and never fail ya Battle thugs in the street, rap nerds, I'll e-mail ya Face it, the rap game just ain't what it used to be Rhymes don't rhyme, and niggas flow very loosely I got some season tickets so the B's are getting used to me I'm bilingual, so I speak to both bitches fluently Who that? I get on the mic, I say who that There's only five niggas with rap flows who can do that Before that I'm dead, I'm getting head like she knew that Muthafuckas lying, so I hit 'em with the zoo raps Animal bars, you rap stars are substitutions Waiting for the governor, to stay your execution Taking flicks, with a hell of a pose, that's only juicing Fuck with niggas who drink, smoke and solicit prostitution, muthafucka [Sean Price] Yo, I take hard drugs, I graveyard thugs Major league poison, I sell A-Rod drugs Major league noise, from that AR slug Five times a day, the God pray hard on the rug I rap for respect, I rap for the love I rap for a check, and you rap for the drugs I rap cuz, niggas show the opposite of love The opposite of hate, I pop a clip up in your face I kill something, earth something, hurt something Niggas is lame, they chain name worth nothing Gold plated, colorful glass, that shit ass Take it off, give the shit to your girl, that bitch trash I'm a Slumdog Millionaire, that still ride the ferry boat Tuna fish, bag of chips, and a fucking cherry coke Bet he broke, bet he not, bet that nigga poor Truthfully I'm stacking, duke, I'm ready for the war, P