Black Panther - Don't Sleep lyrics

[Hook: Block McCloud and Jean Grae] Don't sleep. We will k** you as we're Creeping through the night Don't weep. Climbing through your bedroom Window as we're creeping through the night [Interlude 1 (Overlapped with Hook): Block McCloud] Yeah. Brooklyn Ac', b**h. Yeah. Yo, Will Tell (Will Tell), beat is fire, son. (Block McCleasy) Block McCloud. Check this [Verse 1: Block McCloud] Ayyo, I'll rip shot, tick tock around the clock. Building Block Been around the block a couple times with this hip hop Young chap, chipper with a tongue flap like flip-flops Gun claps, spit shots. It's not a comeback I've been here for ten years. Yours truly sincere Spitting in your ear, you're hearing, drip tears, your ink smears Unreadable. Some feed you bull and some of y'all Eat it ‘til you're full. I'm el truth, unbeatable Got the proof y'all not the truth, son. Got the juice Contacts out the wazoo. Plus Block produce Beats that's got your goose cooked, shook like cops in Hot pursue. Best cat to spit since Dr. Seuss Unlock a gun, co*k it, shoot it to sunblock Run through your crew and your chickens with my co*k-a-doodle-doo Man, your chick's done flew the coop—toot-a-loo Magic stick a voodoo to have ‘em jumping through some hula hoops Bumming 'cause they love me. They say, “Give me the loot” All they get's honey, licking their tummy like they Winnie-the-Pooh Skip to my loot, skip to my loot. I'm Sick with a flu spit. Sip on my juice—kids bit it Chip on their tooth, chip on their tooth. I'm slick with it Loose like chicks on a deuce. Your wrist slitted, b**h [Interlude 2: Black Panther and Diabolic] Black Panther: b**hes, you haven't slit your wrists yet? (Come on) You're not dead? Come on, die. This is Brooklyn Ac', Black Panther. Yo, we coming through. We got a new member in the crew to spit. (Who's that?) Yo, what's your name, son? Tell me Diabolic: Diabolic Black Panther: (Go get 'em) Who you rep? Diabolic: Brooklyn Academy, yo Black Panther: (Come on) Yo, spit that [Verse 2: Diabolic] Ride or die? I die to ride but got too high to drive Jumped in the driver's side, made a six and five collide And I survived as my own violent copilot In the pa**enger's seat, blasting the heat while I ghost ride it Hit a tree, crash it, smash your dash's cheap plastic k** your boy and still avoid a six-foot-deep casket Complete savage on the streets with E tablets While D's in a green Caprice Cla**ic creep past it It seems drastic drunk in LIE traffic Forced to wreak havoc with an ounce-a-week weed habit But I keep at it, chase paper with a straight razor Stumble home late night and hate life a day later 'Cause life's a b**h who only treat you right when you're twice as rich But if you're broke, she'll cut your throat and slice your wrists I might just flip, grab and beat a cop by the weed spot Drag him through three blocks while other police watch Forewarning: punks who grill like George Foreman ‘Til my four horsemen kick they second floor door in Where cats record, smash the chord, snatch the board And choke you with the RCA jack attachment chord Y'all are strapped for war? Clapping back and forth? As a last resort, I'll stab you with a plastic fork But the streets is watching. Lots of birds got some words So while the block observes, I'ma lock its optic nerve Just watch and learn, snatch a Glock from a cop's holster Shower shots over the entire pop culture I'm supposed to rep. See, I knew my soul was blessed When I could hold my breath long enough to see you choke to d**h Both hands around your throat glands for a few crumbs Drunk off Bourbon, searching for stores to boost from I ain't asked for nothing, schooled myself in cash corruption Friends who'd snipe me and wifey pa**ing judgement I learned most, with my first toke of sherm smoke Was an accident I put a hatchet in this turncoat Took cheese and blew it on gear for the D's your crew with So y'all have something to wear when you're leaking fluid, bleeding through it Under the influence, driving drunk, frying skunk Pulling over to throw a rising punch ‘til both your eyes are lumped Got hash and indo right here, no job or resume Just half a demo and the gear I was rocking yesterday I'm losing it, a lunatic who'd use a fist To abuse your chick's uterus when I throw bows like Ludacris Your crew's too b**h to fathom a magnum shooting with The intension of apprehending your platinum crucifix But knowledge is power, plus snatching wallets from cowards Beats ‘Bolic at Tower, working for six dollars an hour Now the game's an open stage to release a prisoner Who's aiming a loaded gage at the police commissioner I took advantage, looked at a good book for answers The Art of War, painting masterpieces on a crooked canvas Throw a right hook and land it to beat your weak jaw With every freaking cheap who*e screaming, “He's raw” On Funk Flex front steps ‘til he unleashes C4 And that'll be nuclear winter for the Eastern Seaboard My sh** reaches each store. I'll play the hand I'm dealt If not, I'll fill my trunk and give 'em straight to fans myself There's two dozen crews thugging who say that you nothing They say that you bluffing 'cause of the place you grew up in Now you gangsters and thugs hanging in clubs, shooting 'em up With .22s on the truck and 100 proof in a cup Controlling blocks with coke and rock, holding Glocks No, you're not. Prove it, shoot this patrolling cop Just load and lock the fullest clip you've got, then pull and click Lick shots 'til bullets hit. If not, you're full of sh** [Verse 3: Jean Grae] I'm a Latter-day Saint terror, frame draped with a leather Cape with metal buckles around the face so I escape quicker Standing on the top landing of a skyscraper With the cops chanting and the helicopters taking shots at me Millennium boots. Better ready your noose My steady hand will machete any living thing that moves Lose a lot of body fluids when pissing and bleeding I'm a ridiculous heathen with syphilis like sickness when breathing Human taxidermy, actual rappers laying with backs on gurneys Stab to stop reactions from the scalpel turning Catch me at all functions cursing at somebody Or robbing purses at church luncheons, lurking in the pews, ducking The priest molester with a child abuser he detect. I find it highly amusing To fry the Devil's hide, they're trying to pry into a child's rectum So I dissect ‘em. God let them cry while I'm waving by some side exits Dialect especially challenging like a Kenyan running backwards Embarra**ing amputee runners from pa**ing them Hock phlegm rapidly, smarter or candidly I'll never be a martyr—the afterlife couldn't handle me Open your chest like a can, I'll be damaging Your whole humanity until you panic and burst your anatomy I'm stealth—you'll never corner Jean. I move with the zephyr So who's next? I got a whole f**ing slew of vendettas [Verse 4: Pumpkinhead] Dudes be rhyming gangster with them sh**ty lyrics You fake. Why you emulating 50's image? And wait. How you a drug dealer pushing renteds? And come up short with the weight like a skinny midget? Okay, I won't hate. I'ma just get these digits I'm so sick, they got my transcript in every clinic You so b**h, you got raped in almost every prison Homeboy, listen. Your bird is my pigeon These words that I'm spitting got your bird slurping my jizzum Me and you in the game? Someone told you a lie Don't get lit up like a seaport on the fourth of July Back up. I'll stab you with a fork in your eye And tell everyone, “Never again talk to this guy” Get some internet kids to spread rumors about ya That ain't your car—you fronting. Really, I doubt ya That's a company driver and you pay him with vouchers The outcome is this: the game is wrapped By some motherf**ers people call the “Brooklyn Ac'” We not cooking crack. We got books with rap That'll shut the industry down and bring Brooklyn back (n***a) What? [Hook: Block McCloud and Jean Grae] Don't sleep. We will k** you as we're Creeping through the night Don't weep. Climbing through your bedroom Window as we're creeping through the night [Verse 5: Jean Grae] I'll bite into you with iron teeth like a violent leech Blood's an acquired taste. I'll dry you on a quiet beach Like Block, I'll drain you, maim you to the pain I came to disturb the physical curve of the game Grae matter f**ing up your thought pattern, scattered Erratic, neurotic, ebonic, slinger, banger of dope product Hypnotic drinker, exotic anger, melodic singer A smoke addict allergic to cancer and asthmatics A broke rapper indebted to credit like crack addicts With good dealers who lean 'em a little. I'm mean And when I dream, I double-dribble. My REM scenes Are coupled with ten teens in full schools with M-16s that giggle I'll rip your throat in the middle, watch you choke on your spittle Flying shrapnel side-attacks you when I run by in a black suit Why try to beat the maniacal rage of this diabolical, mega beat like I'm finding a slave? With his feet on the table in the den of the plantation Then switch and jump in his body and smash the master's face in My lack of patience exceeds a normal level I see the warning levels at green, but if you mettle, it screams The unforgettable hypes. I might invite you to dance With me, handsome, under pale moon light Cut your damn tongue, don't repent for sh** like I'm Manson Badly handle a hand gun, madly shooting at random With ample angles, aiming and missing, straight in your kitchen When bacon slicking your children, pay attention—hey, your fate is ticking My face is twitching, I'ma lose in pace, hallucinating Like I swallowed quarter-and-an-eighth case of Peruvian weight Virgin f**ing, no lubrication. This conversation's a combination Of motherf**ers out to dead your occupation Lacerations form, we'll be swarming you like some locust Engulfing and then inform you, “Be warned. It's the last dopest” [Hook: Block McCloud and Jean Grae] Don't sleep. We will k** you as we're Creeping through the night Don't weep. Climbing through your bedroom Window as we're creeping through the night [Outro (Overlapped with Hook): Block McCloud] This is your last warning—this is it. Brooklyn Ac', we here. Brooklyn Ac' is everywhere (All around). Not only in Brooklyn, you know, like, uh, Staten Island, Detroit. But we here. Numbers is growing. Face it. In the street (3, 2, 1). Get over it. Die. Die