Icon (of Brooklyn Academy) - Brooklyn Academy Freestyle (A Long Rhyme Coming: The 1999 to 2002 Sessions Pt. 1) lyrics

[Intro: Lil Lego and Will Tell] Lil Lego: Yo. Yo, Eddie Ill. Brooklyn Ac' part two. Yo Will Tell: Will Tell, n***a. What? n***a, don't do that. n***a, don't do that. Yo [Verse 1: Will Tell] Don't believe what you perceive, n***a. It's just An illusion, one of my methods of confusion Hidden cures of literature. Two hits: Me hitting you, you hitting the floor New sh**, forbidden laws of spitting the raw Musical ma**acre, gutter format hitting you off A gift from the Lord sent down, a vicious form To christen your sores, bless your shields, then shift in form Then I bring you the gift upon Any dawg, here's some trees to get lifted on Just to see who's weak or strong ‘cause the leader Upon this sh** eat and bleed this song [Verse 2: Bishop] Yo, yo, it's our turn. Show me the light, give me some burn Live it and learn, post up, pivot, and turn Game done, duke. This ain't for fun, duke I'll destroy all y'all producers with just one loop So don't ask me for a track ‘less you got dumb loot ‘Cause I'm a grimy n***a that don't even got one suit Slum flutes, five n***as cut from the same cloth Y'all bu*t n***as that just front and remain soft [Verse 3: I-See-On] I's the pope, swing pendulum ropes—the King James version Swallow oceans, hold enough thoughts to leave the Earth swerving I'm living life to the fullest extent and I'm Not gonna stop ‘til I'm up in a bulletproof Bent On a flying coop, I'ma leave Earth and find the truth And date back to the day that Eve bit the forbidden fruit Spit at you, holding a thought in my visuals Ginsu knife carve in your face, split ‘em in two [Verse 4: Mr. Metaphor] With bare hands, I'll rip a nickel. I'll spit Tears into your soul ‘til you turn pickle Ayyo, I'm Big John Studd. You Stuart Little We at the top of this game. Y'all the monkey in the middle I'm Jack Frost spitting, harden your nipple. I'll turn Your body rigor mortis and carve in my initial I'll rip you up like Scottie Tissue, hit you up like A commie missile, make you wile out like a zombie bit you I'll stuff your mouth with my mic and turn your lip blue I'll build a house without ice and call it igloo I want the Cream like Bristol. I had a dream My pistols shot up your spleen and split you. Don't try to scream I'll get you. I'll hit you with a train and stick you Toss you in a ditch and ditch you. b**h, you wish you had a clique that miss you My gat kiss you—muah—then lift you Red trickle down your head tissue—you's a dead issue [Verse 5: Pumpkinhead] I'll move like Dirty Harry. Three-fifty-seven burn n***as Like the movie Carrie. Run in your crib, snatch up the kids And shoot the nanny. How you a thug rocking boots and panties? My n***as is drawn booze. You fruit and candy Sweet and feminine. I'm a quiet thug and my gun Is decadent—four-five nickel-plate, pearl handle Weapon sh** wetting sh** excellent. Never hesitant To leave a n***a looking like The Exorcist His neck'll twist three-sixty. Heaven-sent spit Holy water, Genesis penmanship leave you dead and stiff Like a corpse with a hard-on. Bring your squad on They're b**hes in a SisQó video with their thongs on My four-four alarm have you walking around With no arms on. Don't puff out your chest unless you got A bra on. n***a, I'll untwist your cornrows With a crossbow and toss your lost soul to the crossroads [Verse 6: Bishop] Ayyo, I'm cashing in light mics and bring birth to eyesights What I write could be you, so hijack flights Watch the runway and clear it out ‘cause there might be gunplay There might be none, but, with me, it's a hell of a gamble Say your “Hail Mary”s, call the cops and ambulances I'll spit Switzerland mountain raps that avalanche All opposing opponents circling the one and chosen Bishop microphone a therapy for n***as' colons And when I drop, it's like pennies off the World Trade Seemed like small change but hit like a f**ing grenade I wish I had a buck for every ear that I infected You hear me, you'll feel violated—your head's been molested I'll get all up in you, burn your sh** like stomach acid Try to cough me up, you'll feel your throat closing rapid Hear your flows stutter, eyes crossed, bones collapsing Left your fam dancing with devils Cannibal rebel. I'll eat the mic instead of you ‘Cause, when I spit back, I'll turn gas to clear crystals n***a, you f**ing with me and ducking me, pull a Forty-four longnose out the jeans and tuck it with me [Verse 7: Block McCloud] You're fidgeting, a tad nervous. Flows are riveting To have you shivering in your Timberlands if simpleton Your wifey get the slippery ting, giving me tings—in fact Every day without you and me ever meeting I'll hit you so hard, you'll never regain, never regain Consciousness. You'll remain walking Memory Lane. I'm a- -head of the game, better than battering editors Editing journals and letters, gutting ‘em like internal medicine Let every word I said be embedded in brains. Your men are In danger—ten of ‘em Cain left dismembered and maimed And mangled and tangled into bangles and chains. I'll trample Your brains, leave you hanging from veins and arteries You want no part of me—this man is insane, got loose screws In here. Kid refused to hear. I used his ears for souvenirs Too many years. I'm rumbling, I'm running in like Gunga Din More jungle when I brought some string and hung some kids from jungle gyms