Brooklyn Academy - Con Artists (Dirty) lyrics

[Intro: Mr. Metaphor] Thinkin' of a master plan, Skeme Team Let the track expand and attack the land Don't ever turn your back on those cats who scam Don't ever put your guard down and smack my hand [Verse 1: Pumpkinhead] I skeme from New York to the land beyond I skeme Girl Scouts (gimme that) for they candy bars I could skeme a man in the desert for his last bottle of Evian I burn champions like Tiger bombs I could pick your pocket with the steadiness of pilot's arms Wilin' on s**ers who think I'm mild and calm I'm like a silent alarm, the type to frighten your moms Lightin' the traum, bitin' my rhyme is like bitin' a bomb Pumpkin's tight like a dyke in a thong I could even skeme a priest into liking this song I'm like a thief in the night—I strike and I'm gone Release on the mic that's tight in my palm, writin' these songs The con artist, bombardin' areas uncharted Pick out one target, leave him in his undergarments Troopin' through Brooklyn, stupid, dumb, retarded Bloomin' like a summer garden. You never see me like a bum in carpets To spit what I spit, you'd need a tongue enlargement I'm comin' chargin', gunnin' like a hundred sergeants Skeme Team renaissance this, verbal calmness On point like a compa**, sheisty like Congress [Hook: Block McCloud] (x2) Skeme Team—even when you know us you don't really know us You shouldn't trust us as far as you could throw us Always up to somethin' so we see the top the fastest Don't put it past us. Skeme Team rock the ma**es [Verse 2: Block McCloud] We skeme to leave a lastin' impression, attack as an act of aggression Hack you to sections with a rusty blade so you can catch an infection This track's a reflection of acts that had me back in detention Reflected off cracked gla**, and my backstabbin' intentions I'm that rap ba*tard that slapped maskin' tape on fat, hairy-a**ed kids You askin' for trouble, hardrocks. Get blasted to rubble Like emba**ies in Africa, then I laugh at ya and laugh at ya Half of you don't even know that half of ya know the half—I baffle ya I'm over your head—I hover up other craftier breed Your wife's in my bed on my level while you lookin' after my seed I went from last to the lead when I slash ya, you bleed like hemophiliacs I'm from Puerto Rico—me no feelin' that So zip it, while I spit flows, burn you like a Zippo Put you in a trance like a hypnotist, split domes like a schitzo Tiptoe through your tulips, with two clips filled with bullets And steal your Pulitzer, bust you if I'm feeling stupider And I'm troopin' to Brooklyn, got you lookin' up at Jupiter when I'm scoopin' your Leather wallet to fill my head with knowledge On where you kept your dollars [Bridge: Mr. Metaphor] Thinkin' of a master plan, Skeme Team Thinkin' of a master plan, Skeme Team [Hook: Block McCloud] (x2) Skeme Team—even when you know us you don't really know us You shouldn't trust us as far as you could throw us Always up to somethin' so we see the top the fastest Don't put it past us. Skeme Team rock the ma**es [Verse 3: Mr. Metaphor] Dispersing verbal chrome in your local nursing home This verse is the perversest known to walk the earth's surface alone Without a purpose, get your circus blown I fill your palm with silicone and leave you cancer prone I'm holdin' friends in Rome with these hands alone And turnin' sands to stone (to stone) I'm stuck on girls like Lancôme I'll crush your collar bone into little cobble stones My raps leave you broke like a thousand collage loans I'll stomp your childish poems, so my style is grown I'm a mansion, you a mobile home, a dog without a bone Without a yard to roam. I'll rip apart your poem I'm the sharpest rap artist known, runnin' your lethargic tones You steppin' in my target zone. You bothered, you get thrown I break you Down like Syndrome and nail you like an ingrown I'm out this ozone, flyin' on a sno cone, smokin' homegrown Blazin' in the outer space no smoke zone Word A' Mouth, Skeme Team, it's engraved in a milestone Grab your cell phone—we off the hook, hear the dial tone