Brooklyn Academy

[Verse 1 - Pumpkinhead] I’m a beast of the underground Hotter than lava rocks You don’t know what time it is Then go out and cop a watch When drama pops, we fade niggas out like a barber shop Y’all talk a lot, we stomp pimps out in the parking lot Step on my block—that’s a mistake like when the condom pop You got to stop before you get shot like Big and Pac Two shots to your arm and your crouch We bombin’ your spot, we got it on lock Please believe I got the heat up the sleeve So sick, I’m a living breathing disease, a hedonist sleaze Who wants a piece of the cheese When I creep through the trees like Vietnamese Reach for the breeze before I lift your feet off the leaves Now you eager to leave—get back in your seat While your lady feelin’ on my meat like a catholic priest Like L.L. in the back of the jeep We swinging episodes, the Tech’ll blow, your neck explodes Now you got extra holes aside from your ears, mouth, and your nose A fully composed masterpiece—I was fully exposed To the altered beast in my heart I’m sick in the head Don’t become the quick of the dead I got a six-shot revolver lodged in my esophagus with one bullet Eight-millions stories in this world untold So in my notebook is where I put ‘em You just a Jr. like Cuba Gooding [Verse 2 – I-See-On] I’s insane in the brain and I might just kill a man like Cypress Hill Throw him off the cliff with his head shaved My chest caged, smokin’ C.I. backwoods Type to walk through black hoods—black hood, black gun Magnum big enough to pistol whip you I sit and beat you into submission until both of your eyes are missin’ Knock your teeth out, give you gashes over your face While the beatdown still pending like an open case Y’all’ll take me to court—that’s how y’all do things When I beat you down, you’ll scream out “Su” like Wu-Tang Choke you with a belt, pull your pants over head Range Rover both of your legs. Oops, it’s over, you dead Say goodbye now. Niggas gettin’ wiped out And I ain’t gonna stop ‘til there’s blood all over the White House Tell George Bush to call Bill Clinton And have him call Monica Lewinski ‘cause the boy is spittin’ I’m sick with it. They got me watchin’ my rear view I’m looking for steel to stomp him with steel shoes When I was born, they put me inside my grave first I’m lookin’ for God in the Garden of Eden he made first I found the serpent and choked his ass so fast it reversed the process of Earth—birth to the first Earth I’m Pearl Harbor to the third power. I’m like the Japanese The way I’m clappin’ when I’m packin’ heat I’m like the summer when you feel the heat I’m like bullets from Pakistanis—that’s word to my baby mami I spit sicker, malt liquor verse I got it wrapped like turbans—watch how I swerve to the left Bin Laden bullets burst in your chest Big guns, big bombs, big bullets, AK and a vest, nigga [Verse 3 - Block McCloud] What? What you thought? I forgot how to spit? Spit hot shit that stick like the top of my dick Walk when I talk so my words are stalkin’ My thoughts, things, pluck your veins like guitar strings Harborin’ a criminal’s thought like a priest in a pew Listening to children whisperin’ in the dark Scissor the heart—if you’re smart, you’ll swim with the sharks Envision this block locked like where the prisoner watch So in a battle, you doubt I’mma win—you goin’ out on a limb Snake’ll have you jumpin’ out of your skin’ I’m sick like multiple sclerosis Cult’ll kill your closet kin—sins can only be found through hypnosis You got to crack the skull to pull out all the multiple personalities—it’s comp’rable to what I’ve done to you I’ll come for you to sculpture you with scalpels. What do you prefer to lose? Your genitals or two-thirds of your purple ooze? I murder crews with surgical tools and drill bits So when they ask what I did to this shit, “He killed it.” [Verse 4 – Immortal Technique] If you ever try to floss on me up in the cypher Your platinum will fall apart like it’s made of Formica You think you’re nice but I’m nicer Like Ras Kass, Punisher, and KRS in a gene splicer Fuck a Bentley—I’ll run you down in a Chrysler My shit is raw like cocaine stuffed in a diaper I shared cells with lifers when I was stuck in prison Smokin’ Buddha like I was burning someone else’s religion I lift my leg to urinate on conservative Christians ‘Cause you never seen a dog hold his dick while he’s pissin’ Listen instead of bitchin’ at the shit that I’m rippin’ ‘Cause intellectual, murderous, spittin’ this copywritten You can’t compare what you’re kickin’ to what I verbally did I’m the Lord of the Flies, nigga, ‘cause I’m murderin’ kids Run up in your crib without a fuckin’ camera crew And confiscate your plaques for doing things that amateurs do Sabotage, break down the industry, damagin’ you A runaway slave—that’s how my stamina grew I come through walkin’ on water like the messiah I make bitches lose they mind like Mariah I set tracks on fire like Betty Shabazz And when I fuck, I burn rubber like Dominican cabs Iron-clad armor, spit like a sub-machine And burn your block to ashes like nuclear submarines Ayo, bitch, put your finger in your ear. It’s squishy in there, right? That’s ‘cause I just raped your fuckin’ brain [Verse 5 – Mr. Metaphor] I’ll spit a five-star motion picture—let’s skip the previews We throwin’ razor blades, y’all put to teaspoons Get to know me. I’m your girl’s tenderoni I’m the man in the whip with the place in the back, blinkin’ “Members Only” And we ain’t takin’ applications We the team that got the fastest break to five championships without a talent agent I be on the real—I beat on your skill I’ll kill your lawyer and I’ll pee on your deal And I ain’t tryna be funny, I’m just tryna see money Add to the game and keep the economy running I’m going anywhere life takes me ‘cause there’s gotta be something And by the time I’m out the game, see, there’ll be probably be nothing I’m tryna move to the left and keep y’all in the middle I got the butter handle—y’all always double dribble Y’all been suckers way back since your mother’s nipple I double-dare you to step if trouble hit you Y’all got it backwards like pussy, so wise up People look too hard and get their eyes stuck I swing my dick in the air ‘cause I’m that fly fuck Live, about to erupt, better slide up! We keep it hard—y’all have step or stay or Dante Y’all better get the fuck up like Pharaohe Monch say And put your hands where my eyes can see I’m MJ on the mic, so come fly with me It’s Mr. Meta, do the math. 7 minus 3 That cat breakin’ out the church with the bride-to-be One week later, she cooking me broccoli Two weeks later, her cousin’s on top of me Three weeks later, I’m up in her family With the keys to the crib and the Cam-ery I plan to see the world in the outer limits Without no gimmicks, it’s Met now. Out my business!