Icon (of Brooklyn Academy) - On the Run and Holdin lyrics

[Intro: Sample from American Me] [?]: You got a lot of heart, carnal. Maybe too much Montoya Santana: Always gotta give it your best shot [Interlude: Pumpkinhead] Yeah. Brooklyn Ac' [Verse 1: Pumpkinhead] I roll with heartless men that make your heart stop and never start again We'll part your skin and make you bleed margarine—ain't no argument My weapons armament is targeting your cardigan Blood stains remain on the carpet and a thousand soldiers marching in (What?) Size order: Brooklyn Ac', full metal jack Make you pedal back on 24-level track, confidential raps Make your mental crack like monkey brains. Rocking chunky chains That swing back and forth like pendulums Hypnotizing your cerebellum with my ice emblem Sip the reddest rum. I'll walk where brethren slumped. I'm one of Heaven's sons The angel of d**h with metal guns that weigh in at seven tons Spit with eleven tongues until my head is numb Pumpkinhead with d**h becomes Lincoln in a casket Eyes open, fighting maggots, draped in black fabric I'm gangster, sick in the head, illmatic My brain is shattered, broken up into eighty fragments [Verse 2: Mr. Metaphor] I'll open Pandora's box and let the demons out My children scream and shout, let me lead the route I'm traveling back with a AK to free the south Gagging the law with a bar of soap to clean they mouth Nowadays, we staying weeded out Puffing trees with the illest MCs, n***as you read about You run up in your hideout when it's night out Turn your lights out, dig in your heart and take it right out The f** out. It's my house—you under my roof You in my world. I live there, the one your kids fear Shed a tear, yeah, for the ones who ain't here We coming for your feet—beware, the people under the stairs Out for the k**, out for the power to build A thousand or more blasting off of Hamburger Hill Close down the stock markets. Son, we scamming a mill Snatch the inheritance out your grandmother's will Reach for the sky. You people must be eager to die I found the fountain of youth and, son, I'm keeping it dry Too many reasons I'm high, too many seasons gone by I want my piece of the pie, to stop this leak in my eye Going for broke. Son, we overthrowing the pope Got politicians in the water, running, rowing a boat To my New York, Brooklyn grimies who be blowing the smoke Out on the street corner, blacked out, holding a toast [Hook: Block McCloud] All my peoples reaching for they guns (Crack that 40 open) Someone twist that dutch and light it up (We gon' get you open) This one here goes out to all my thugs (On the run and holding) This one's for the streets, not for the clubs (In your system, stomping) [Verse 3: I-See-On] Yo, yo, I got big plans, Yakuza terrorists in Japan Crossing my path's like watching yourself sink in quicksand Check out the live portrait my style offers from five Porsches Money, power, respect. My life resembling a wild orchid New York Post most wanted, mind torturer Rhyme sorcerer, mini MAC live orchestra Graze your head. Bullets is painting your flesh A picture of me is like looking at a painting of d**h f**ing with me's like walking through a graveyard. Bullets'll have you trembling There's no mega to my existence We get a lot of props and my n***as'll even body cops We'll leave you gasping, doing a backspin, swallow hollow tops An act of vengeance. Through a mirror of fright, my life's reflected In my remembrance, they'll bust guns with they arms trembling My little son's sons hear the audio when we bust guns Make your ears bleed. My n***as fiend—they even f** nuns Let's get it on. Brook-nam was swarmed by The Wrath of Khan I'll run a marathon through Babylon, rapidly clapping arms Split the planet, swallow the globe, verbally spitting granite Second to none, lust for the funds, letting the gas spit Part the seas, violently stalked by the Mark of the Beast I'm from the streets. We don't speak—we just talk with our heat [Verse 4: Block McCloud] We stand out like scaffolding. You'll be crackling, flickering When we battling, bickering back and forth like haggling Heads get chopped, are quickening. Burial plots is thickening Snatching your Lincoln rims, slashing your Michelins in Michigan Then we smashing your windows in. Stray bullets catching innocent witnesses For standing near it. I'm back in your businesses Smacking the fear of God in you, extorting and racketeering Export what you snorting, sport cars with rack and pinion steering Wheeling and dealing, we started out snatching earrings Now the Ac', we ma** appealing—only the wack is catching feelings Imagine dealing in millions, feeding your children's children's children ‘Til then, I'm building, leading a rebellion Bullets fly like petals in the wind, melting your skin, entering abdomens Before exiting, shattering your skeletons Cracking your brittle limbs to bits ‘cause it's the little things that count Pistol-whip simpletons for bigger counts, then pull triggers and bounce [Hook: Block McCloud] All my peoples reaching for they guns (Crack that 40 open) Someone twist that dutch and light it up (We gon' get you open) This one here goes out to all my thugs (On the run and holding) This one's for the streets, not for the clubs (In your system, stomping)