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eddie ill & d.l. – brooklyn academy freestyle (the time has come!) lyrics

[intro: icon]
psss. oh my god, yo! hah, these n-ggas wild out, son! yo, eddie ill, man, do you know what you just did putting these guys on your tape? yo, these n-ggas is straight off the… yo, they be wiling. yo, brooklyn ac’, dj eddie ill, dl 3. we’re coming at you live in 3-d. is you ready for this, man? brooklyn ac’

[verse 1: mr. metaphor]
ayyo, we indestructible. son, it’s real like that
you can shoot me with a bullet—it’ll heal right back
i’ll eat forty emcees as a real light snack
yo, where the mic at? i lay my game down quite flat
i got a tight rap i’ma stick in your head
with a big fat blunt to leave you glistening red
all the ladies know i’m bad, bad and wicked in bed
‘cause some cats bite the bush, but i l!ck it instead
but, girl, i’m only going down if you giving me head
and i’ma “put it on, put it on” like kid capri said
son, i’m tougher than leather. i’ll rip a verse like cheap thread
then put my hand on d-ck and make you hooked (dj!)
i got no regrets, no weight on my back
put on your seatbelt strap—it ain’t safe on my track
f-ck putting out a name—i want my face on the map
i want them gimme-head shorties with their face in my lap
snake in the gr-ss, i got your girl shaking her -ss
i’ll roll with grimy bk cats who rake in your cash
son we ‘robbing old folks and making a dash
jumping through storefronts wild and breaking the gl-ss
i’m only looking towards the future, stay away from my past
‘cause i looked death in the face when i was eight-and-a-half
emcees is d- work. son, i’m acing the cl-ss
you circus clown acts, y’all keep making me laugh

[verse 2: icon]
ayyo, ayyo, a n-gga like me want to get paid in these streets
these streets, yo, they canada dry. i’ll lay you back
with the plans in my mind, party dumb
we’re in the back with our hats in the front, p-ssing the blunt
if there’s beef, then we blasting them up. if i don’t know you
i don’t f-ck with you counterfeit thugs. n-gga
‘cause y’all just rent them cars. n-gga, you semi-hard
i’ma hit you with the semi—now you semi-gone
and if you want to battle, duke, i’ll pull a gat on you
i’ma put a hole in you and your man in back of you
and your man that’s in back of him
n-gga, that’s only one bullet—imagine ten
i’ll k!ll a whole club. hold up
i got it sewn up, my n-ggas roll up
and y’all n-ggas ain’t no thugs, never sold drugs
i’ll spit ‘til i ain’t got no spit. i’ll spit
during a lunar eclipse. i’ll spit ‘til i ain’t got no lips
i’ma spit until my skin fall off
everything i spit is sick—i ain’t well no more
h-ll’s my cure, freed jesus who was nailed to the cross
swallow the devil, spit fire out the sh-t pitchfork

[verse 3: block mccloud]
yo, yo, yo, yo
i’ll beat you down like hedda nussbaum
on a bus bound for uptown ‘cause you wouldn’t gimme a bus down
you ain’t truly hard—i’ll pull your card on a boulevard
rob you for your jewelry guard and juvie card
‘cause i’m a full r-t-rd—in fact, i’ll slap you silly
i’ll tap the jelly out your capillary
son, you’re harmless—at your very worst, you an accomplice
a sidekick. you ride d-cks, you like a armrest
you get elbowed! you’re just a p-ssycat with a p-ssy rap
i’ll peel your cap and push it back
you a has-been. you ain’t lasting. i can’t get ate in fasting
get tossed fast into the trash bin
you poo-putt, you’ll get chewed up like new gut
you’re a b-tch: screwed up, knocked up, then tubes cut
you don’t come/c-m off, blue nuts. you’re bashful
battling block’s a handful you can’t handle

[verse 4: pumpkinhead]
i’ll spit faster than the average rapper. brooklyn ac’
a bunch of b-st-rds that’ll jack ya quicker than a flash of
black talons coming at ya. pistol packer
we want your money, your wife, and the keys to your acura
and the number to your manager
so we can whip his -ss for even thinking you got stamina
n-gga, we professionals with guns and the cameras
so smile and say, “cheese.” i’ll put one in your bandana
i’ll spit that sick sh-t that give your mans cancer
black panther disguised as a panhandler
elbow you in the face like t-to santana
you can tell we hungry, you can tell we grungy
i’ll smoke blunts in front of the church every sunday
abuse crews ‘cause they got loose screws like kelly bundy
i can tell you dummies, i can tell you funny
and i can tell you g-y like the purple teletubby

[hook: icon] (x2)
ayyo, brooklyn ac’, n-ggas. we slap n-ggas
battle wack n-ggas strapped with mac millas
c-ck back and slap average rap n-ggas
snap tracks with the impact to crack pillars
battle for dough, battle for shines
battle for whips, battle for chips. n-gga, it’s on!
ayyo, battle for hoes, battle for dimes
battle for streets, battle for beats. n-gga, it’s on!

- eddie ill d l lyrics

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