[Intro: Sample from "Bedtime Story" from Vaughn Meader's The First Family]
Caroline: Tell me a story, daddy
JFK: Oh, come on, sweetheart, it's, ah, late
Caroline: Just one short story, daddy
JFK: Oh, alright. Just this one
Caroline: Tell me my favorite story
[Verse 1: Mr. Metaphor]
Stake your claim on this mic, son, state your name
Get your mouth froze, taste the ‘caine
Enter your vein. My words flow and lace your brain
Smell the butane. This cat is loose like a shoestring
Dangling, still catching wreck when we tangling
Mangling minds, spraying my lines
Pray for your lives, get vaporized if we destabilize
I pave a path for the wise with mud in my eyes
Sitting on the sun as it rise and smoke a blunt in the skies
The cat'll cut up your thighs and lick the blood off the knives
Chopping ya. b**h MCs, get the co*k in ya
Dusting ya like a number one drug customer
Hustler, get your sh** muffed like a muffler
Raise the temperature every time they hear me mention a name—we popular
Like a five-star opera
Mopping ya off of the floor, then force-dropping ya
You follow my lead at a high speed. We quicker ta
Lift up your feet from a Brooklyn street to Ithaca
Sticking ya, f**ing your ho like Dirk Diggler
Sick with the flow, twisting the dro mixed with indica
Tear your heart up, put a rip in ya, stripping ya
Fat-lipping your mug, son, the rhyme crippler
‘Member back when when it was much more simpler
We stuck in ya with a microphone, fist-f**ing ya
[Interlude 1: Samples and (Pumpkinhead)]
[Sample from "Bedtime Story" from Vaughn Meader's The First Family]
Caroline: Oooh. I was scared
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: If you don't like my [?]
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: May I have your attention, please? Folks, listen. (Pumpkinhead). I recognize that I must demonstrate...
[Sample from [?]]
[?]:That the a**a**in will be apprehended and brought to justice
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: See, I speak of... I do not hold any of what's on my mind
[Verse 2: Pumpkinhead]
Who the f** you think was next to spit on this track?
That cat from the land of chickens and cracks
My vision of rap is about to switch up—I'll blow your six up
‘Cause it got a snitch—f** the b**h up for the big bucks
Called your b**h, got my dick s**ed, bust a quick nut
The raw-dog n***a. Come through the door, n***a, face the sawed-off, n***a
Break your jaw, drink a fifth to the fourth
And pour the liquor for your tortured figure. Brick law faceoff
Try me. I lift you off your feet like a swami
Praise me like Gandhi. The paparazzi right behind me
Flashing flicks, I'm driving blindly on the I-90
Mad grimy, they want to tie me, explore my body
For extraterrestrial findings, binding my limbs
You'll tie me to Timbs. I'm likely to win
I'm hearing voices—it might be the wind, got me frightened within
Since calling, binge-alcoholing
At a bar where chicks think we're stars, got ghetto celeb cards
It's hard, though. I don't live a condo with cars parked in a garage
I just get charged and the partner rolling [?]
I got hoes like I was chief of the barge, given bl**jobs in combos
If they man bust in, I'm bucking like a bronco
[Interlude 2: Samples and (Pumpkinhead)]
(The f**, n***a? What? What? What?)
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: There are many in my crew
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: In one week, four hundred sixteen Americans died
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: It is a time for the American people to repair...
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: His name (Block McCloud)
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: They'll, uh, be, uh, infliction of... whatever brutality they want
[Sample from Skeme Team ft. Brooklyn Academy's “Con Artists”]
Mr. Metaphor: Skeme Team
[Interlude 3: Mr. Metaphor and (Block McCloud)]
There's no motherf**er [in our district?]. I don't give a f** [?]. (Nah, son. Let me tell these n***as something)
[Verse 3: Block McCloud]
This rap sh**, n***a, you better leave it alone
You think you hot sh**, but, n***a, even Jesus was stoned
And Caesar dethroned. I told you in a previous poem
I'm stupid—area 7-1-8 dial devious tones
The reason I spark the rhyme scheme like thieves in a park
Rip you to shreds with the teeth of a shark and even as sharp
This season, I start freezing out for bleeding-type hearts
[?] and, to my pit, I'm feeding the parts
The mark that I made, the scar on the carca** decayed
Sharpen my blade, embark on a darker crusade
My flow is just coarse, deeper than the ocean has floors
With flows at the toss, my heat will serve to open your ports
Show no remorse, get in ya like a Trojan with horse
I'm trapped in a war that's grimy, fight a battle for hoards
When I land on these shores, hot like a wooly mammoth endures
I'm rapping like [?] and dap will get you clapped like applause
[Outro: Samples]
[Sample from Brooklyn Academy's “The Unusual Jam”]
Pumpkinhead: Brooklyn Ac'
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: You think we're gonna win?
Crowd: Yeah!
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: Our name is...
[Sample from Brooklyn Academy's “The Unusual Jam”]
Pumpkinhead: Metaphor
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: I think that, uh, some people have a way with words
[Sample from Jules Verne's “Journey to the Centre of the Earth”]
Narrator: Under the influence of the breezes, they merged together
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: Where you going?
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: The Academy
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: They have each twirled within a world
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: Icon
[Sample from [?]]
[?]: We cannot turn back