The Bad Seed - CM Famalam Freestyle lyrics

[Verse 1: The Bad Seed] Ayyo, told you before. Now you laying close to the floor You forgot what the black thing in the holster was for I'm a legend in the hood like Bishop and Tommy Bunds Like old-school sh**: Stan Smiths, Tommy Gun Two fifths cripple you, but the MAC'll body son And I don't fear no n***a that breathe—not a one Looking at me, you looking at about two mill You looking at a n***a destined. Every week, new wheels If I don't hold New York down, then, dog, who will? My album drop, n***as break up like Dru Hill Starting coloring their hair and sh**. Rocking thong Underwear and sh**. That right there is b**h How you gon' come amongst dogs when you scared of pits? Only time you wile out: when you recording a skit I rewind that and ask E-Rock, “Yo, where the 9 at?” Let's go to these cats' show, put a hole where their spine at Everything realer than real on my DATs A lot of n***as gon' crash at the wheel for my tracks A lot of b**hes gon' drop they drawers when I rap ‘Cause life ain't nothing but money. Besides that Don't sh** count. I buy my beats on discount ‘Cause it's good as gold whenever my sh**'s out Every word fall on blades whenever it slips out Seeing you at the Grammys, holding my trophy with my dick out Million of cats is running up with their picks out Ready to die for me. Holler at me with your chips out n***as going b**h route? Put hits out Then we get the chicks out, ice crucifix out Chips out, whips out, gun and clips out n***as scared like it's the day Suge gets out State your name, gangster. Bad Seed, motherf**er Pull your boots up. Go tell your mother I want to f** her [Verse 2: Icon] Ayyo, all y'all n***as weaker than f**. Don't make me Creep in a truck. With the blings on, heaters is up Because y'all n***as won't see a thing. We all need the cream I'm so cheap, I'll squeeze a quarter ‘til the Eagle scream Angelica, Marie, Tanya, and me dropped in a V Dropped in my seat, co*king my heat If n***as try to front, then I'm popping my heat With the gold Lo lenses on—eighty a piece I'll have my n***as put your parts in a bottle, put your Heart to the nozzle and give it to you like Paul Castellano I'm greedy in life, willing to bite, Phillies I like Yeah, I like guns, but only the Israelian kind Aim for the sky, hold my pistol, aim to the side I want a platinum Desert with my name engraved on the side I is the pope. b**hes keep their eyes on the rope Sixty inches long, so my penis slide on the floor Ride with a who*e. All y'all n***as die on the floor I'm not a drycleaner but I keep an iron/eye on them all Swim with the sharks, get money or sleep in the park The world is too big. If you don't get money, you're f**ed n***a [Verse 3: Meat Pie] You could catch me on [?] Ave With the baddest Spanish mami just shaking her a** Outside, hustling icebergs, smoking the gra** Watch fiends stumble up the block. We just kick ‘em and laugh Got soldiers in the wastelands, crystals on the smash Hundred-thousand-dollar cars, cold steel, and the stash Beef, you don't want it. I'm old-school like MASH Take about eight n***as to pull my foot out your a** Brooklyn be the borough, New York be the state Filled with grimy n***as eating off the same plate And me and my team came to do. You never seen before Hundreds of gorillas kicking down the doors Strapped with street sweepers, Calicos, and .44s Backed by fans, groupies, pimps, and hoes In the streets, they hold me down like the Timbs on my feet But I'm dirty, keep my hands like my balls and my meat You heard me? New York [Verse 4: Pumpkinhead] I'm a underground vet. I get ‘nough respect And I rep the home of The Jets and The Mets Yo, pet, don't do something that you might regret ‘Cause if you want drama, that's what you gon' get And when you're on the train, bumping my ca**ette You nod your head so hard, people think you got Tourette's I'll f** up your brain when I cross lanes like Stephon for The Nets I'll drop bombs, I'll pop chrons It's cold weather, god. Very cold weather, god I'll freeze my enemies zero degrees with their leathers on Causing frostbite, I sever arms. Upper echelon With the thoughts of a terrorist from Lebanon I'm paid, you played like a back from Benetton My weapon's on. By the second song, your neck is gone I'ma Genghis Khan this track, break his back I'ma go plat ‘cause your moms sell my tape for crack f** that. Yo, yo, you know my style's iller Yo, y-yo, yo, it skipped up Who next? Bad Seed, don't trip up [Verse 5: The Bad Seed] Ayyo, please allow me to introduce myself Who the best, dog? Got to tell the truth: myself Who the only cat I fear in the booth? Myself Get money, get wealth for my health—who else? It's Bad-to-the, Bad Seed-to-the Smoke weed ‘til I look like a Chinese n***a Run with straight thugs and grimiest n***as Got beef? Clinton Hill where you find me, n***a Come get it if you want it, dog. You know how to get it Catch a two-piece with biscuits right to your fitted n***as look at Bad Seed like, “Damn, he shouldn't” Mothers lose a son every time Seed spit it n***as mad, want to be Bad Seed critics ‘cause they Know their baby momma probably let Seed hit it And, yup, Seed did it and my man Seed with it Any plan Seed start, that's a plan Seed finish n***a [Verse 6: Icon] Ayyo, my flow is like c**aine. Y'all n***as is So lame, y'all like Kurt Cobain—no brains You need to bu*ton it up, or, your grill, yo, I'm lumping it up OK, uh huh, what's up? Shut up I don't play that. Y'all n***as need to save that Or I'ma put something hot where your face at So when you look in the mirror, n***a, you could face that You gonna see bullet holes all in your facemask I'm on some Friday the 13th sh**—where the lake at? I'ma strap a Mazda 626 to your waistband And watch you sink slow. My cuatro-cinco flow Spits a hundred and one rounds like Dalmatians And f** them cars you've got—I'm copping a spaceship 2001 Space Odyssey without the apes in it We went from Goodyears to Michelins to Pirellis Half of these n***as big, half these n***as Machiavelli Half of these n***as is menace, half of these n***as belly Half of them keep their mouth closed, half of them telling The f** you doing in rap? Y'all n***as need to be shooting Oops, my bad. They ain't picked you out for the movie You must not had the flow, the look, or the j**elry You never had the dough, a ho, or a O-Z, n***a [Verse 7: Meat Pie] Ayyo, my crew bang sh** like Bloods and Crips This the clique? You might end up in a ditch With holes and sh**, black eyes and fat lips Pardon me for my behavior—man, f** that sh** I'm living my life. Every night, I'm f**ing my wife I'm keeping it trife, dirty like used baby wipes You think I ain't nice? n***a, then you're best to think twice I'm holding my own. O.B.S. controlling the throne You're thinking you're grown? One blast, n***as is gone Out in the streets, n***as be packing the heat You're thinking it's sweet? You must not know the Meat The Magnum P leave you with casualties The tragedy is that you f**ed with we O.B.S. Who you thought it was supposed to be? I'm locing, G. Acting like I'm not supposed to be Come close, you'll see how we blaze n***as accurately [Verse 8: Pumpkinhead] I'm too nice. Y'all n***as can't f** with me The biggest thing to hit the city since Kim Fields' titties Y'all not ready. I'm lined up. My cold flows Freezes frames and leave eyes stuck You couldn't beat me if I s**ed. I'll throw Wild pitches at emcees. Oh, see? Now your time's up Blind f** tied up with no way to escape I'm the rope, the gag, and the dynamite taped to your waist You bite so much, in the winter, your mouth breeds The shape of my face. Nondescript rap condiment Get put on, but ate due to lack of confidence I'll see "The b**h in Yoo" but no Common Sense Your rhymes couldn't be fat if you injected them with collagen I'm hot like halogen. You blow like lots of wind Yo, y'all n***as need to start following Yo, wack emcees I'm swallowing and gobbling Them n***as ain't got nothing for me. It's gory Pumpkinhead flip freestyle—end of story n***as can't f** with me when I'm in a zone I'll break your bones, leave you home alone Beat you in the head with my cellular phone Yo, I'll come through always. Yo, I'm long like Project hallways. Freak it like foreplay all day Yo, check it out. Freestyle my forte Yo, I'm so intelligent, my brain boxes itself I shoot like a Glock on your shelf that you got up Ayyo, I'm propped up. I'm out to mop up Leave emcees broke up. Yo, I'll choke up All the dust in my lungs from the blunt that I brung Yo, check it. Represent O.B.S “For the Kids” Bad Seed record. Go get it Straight up, yo, emcees get ate up [Verse 9: The Bad Seed] Bad Seed five-foot-nine, big co*k Little dude with big plans and big Glocks Don't get it twisted ‘cause I love hip hop I'll run up in your crib, pop you, bloody your flip flops Now you was too hype—probably ‘cause you had Belly on But you don't belong here like little Elián I got your moms hostage—leave your celly on For ransom. She don't want to leave—she think I'm handsome I don't blame her, though. My name say it all I'm that n***a you all know with the dangerous flow About the size of Buckshot with the power of Freddie Foxxx Push weight and rock steady, move steady rocks You like what I got on my neck? Then come get it Push you back, hand on your face, mush you, black In front of your priest and n***as with kufi hats My Blockbusters you can't get movies at And everywhere I go, a n***a leave b**by traps I'll break you up like Polo and Kool G Rap This for my dogs and my b**hes with their doobies wrapped Keep it street like the ground where my shoes be at Ayyo, ayyo, ayyo, f** that sh** Bad Seed come through with the ruck rap sh** That click-clack sh**. n***as get flipped backwards ‘Cause off the top of my ho, ayyo, I'll bone broads on the mattress You know my style be the fattest Flip the beat up, ayyo, ayyo, and speed it up Bad Seed come through. Ayyo, I'll beat it up Like some coochie. Come through, never rock [?] But you might see me chilling with a chick with a doobie Wrapped up and flipped up, click-clacked up I'll come through. Motherf**ers be getting smackedup Tattoo on my neck, tattoo on my arm Ayyo, yo, Flex drop bombs On my record. If you don't believe me, you could check it B.D.S. coming through. You know how we do My n***a J grand master plan Ayyo, ayyo, rubber band around my hand Uh, snap it back, flip you in your nose You know how I come through: get in your mom's pantyhose Uh, ayyo, I used to have a earring in my nose But I took it. Ayyo, go the Brooklyn route Hop on the Manhattan Bridge. Ayyo, this is “For the Kids” My style be mad ill whenever, when n***as want skids With the, with the lottos. Ayyo, n***as want to act ill? Ayyo, I'll grab the motherf**ing bottle And break it on a... Uh. Ayyo, it's sped up again Bad Seed come through. I'm getting fed up again Let's go head up again. Ayyo, he changed the beat And I'ma pa** the microphone because this sh** for the streets [Verse 10: Icon] Everything I'm spitting is raw Spit for the streets, spit for the morgues Spitting with heat, spitting with bars If the f**ing cops arrest me, I'll spit through the bars My flow is f**ing NASA—I'm spitting from Mars Spit for the cats, spit for the dogs Heaven or Hell, Satan or God. My soul'll spit ‘til I'm gone f** that. I'm setting it off, letting it off The weapons I draw went in y'all oral, deading y'all all Arms, legs, eyeballs, heads on the floors Fingers, toes, earlobes, chest on the floors And I'ma be the first n***a to make a song called “f** All Y'all” f** the cops and f** the law, f** the war Break into a f**ing who*ehouse and f** a who*e Jump off the b**h, then flip and f** the floor f** them broads, f** them raw, f** them all Middle fingers in the air, n***a. f** all y'all ‘Cause them type of n***as that be tempting me To walk into your studio and empty three in your MPC Put you in ER like NBC Bootleg your album, sell that sh** on MP3 And my bullets got tracking devices, so when they hit, they exit clean Part your back, cave your chest, and buckle your knees See, y'all labels who want to sign me? Give me a Benz for free f** them labels who didn't sign me, f** MTV ‘Cause, yo, my mouth is like a f**ing loaded shotgun Some n***as bust, some n***as won't, but everybody got one I'm gonna smoke you and your man and wait until the cops come Your top's spun, n***a. We top gun, we gung-ho I'll let the guns blow when the funds low With f**ing AKs longer than Mutombo And this goes out to the best of y'all. We stretching y'all Middle fingers in the air, n***a. f** all y'all ‘Cause when it comes to I's sh**, I spit that hot sh** I'll verbally spit f**ing toxic comments The only problem with that sh** is that, with the force I'ma drop it There ain't gonna be a n***a alive on the planet to watch it I'm from Brooknam, stomp you out, bloody galoshes To my Fort Greene ghetto grimies locked in the boxes To my grimy, ghetto n***as in Fort Greene projects We from BK, motherf**ers. It's on—we're popping ‘Cause when I co*k my heater, I'll make motherf**ers Hot like Easter, stop they re-ups, block their beepers That sh** they kick's softer than topless C-cups I got high-cla** motherf**ers dropping teacups ‘Cause that sh** that I spit is ill. I told y'all n***as Word up, BK some sh** you feel, n***a [Verse 11: Meat Pie] Hot style like kids from Columbine Uncontrollable when it come to dollar signs If you want it, sh**, n***a, here's mine ‘Nough heat up in the closet that'll melt your spine And leak your mind. Bright lights'll leave you blind Buried in the dirt ‘til the end of time The P ain't lying. I spit sh** to leave your fam crying Younger sibling mad as f** ‘cause their brother's dying Do I give a f**? Nope. The n***a asked for it Ain't got no love for you like I said on Brandon's chorus Got n***as that'll ride and broads that die for us Hoes up on the track—what more you want from us? Beats and lyrics to dance and f** to Get high, get drunk—however you do you I'ma lay it down worse than calm and simple Magnum P rather burst like whitehead pimples And it don't stop and we won't quit ‘Cause we from the borough that pops ‘nough sh** We come from BK, motherf**er, all day Represent my block, BK all the way Clinton Hill, Fort Greene, Flatbush, Bushwick All the motherf**ing places. Williamsburg It's still part of my rhyme. And n***as heard It'd be Brooklyn everyday, all day I don't give a f** where you come from, say: BK. Eyes closed, snot-nosed with a red eye Keep my sh** going on like a jet in the sky But I'ma stop ‘cause I don't freestyle Why not? ‘Cause my n***a P do. My man, Pumpkinhed Get on the mic with your eyes mad red Spit that sh** outside with the Feds outside This n***a. The Feds are outside (Oh sh**. The Feds is not outside) Yes, yes, they are n***a, and your eyes is red (They ain't gonna catch me) They got you. They're coming, they're coming, they're coming [Verse 12: Pumpkinhead] So what? My eyes was red. I was smoking a blunt There's Feds outside. They try to give me what they want Maybe two to five for a bag that I had in my pants. Damn, man Them n***as trying to come real hard on me ‘Cause they got Castro in my damn country What's the deal? Yo, we got ma** appeal. We come through Yo, grabbing the steel. Yo, I'm grabbing the wheel Making the turn, making it burn. Yo, I'm like bu*ter Making it churn. n***as need to learn That when I spit freestyle, I'm no joke Emcees get broke down like Legos L'eggo my Eggo—that sh**'s mine. The mic all the time I shine, break down emcees like enzymes Yo, I intertwine like jungle vines. A perfectionist I'm coming through, wrecking this. You disrespecting this You catch a TEC and clip to your neck and lips I'm not playing. Freestyle I'm displaying Pumpkinhead coming through. Emcees decaying Underground. In the cemetery, yo, I'll leave ‘em buried Freestyle, yo, I'll never worry. I'll come through in a flurry Like cold snow in the winter. Ayyo Y'all n***as is stuck up like splinters I'm coming through and I'll enter like Wu Yo. Yo, what you gonna do? Flip the beat on me. One to the two Yo, my name is Pumpkinhead. I'm from the Brooklyn Zoo Emcees can't handle me. Yo, I'm like glue Yo, you bounce off you and stick to me n***as try to front on me, I'll leave them on their knees Yo, they breeze like a leaf. Ayyo, I'll come through You can't conceive. I'm like a lyrical disease Ayyo, I'll come through and I'll please All the shorties, yo, with the big booties Everything I'm rhyming ends with “-ies”/ease Get off these. n***as, please. Yo I'll come through. Y'all n***as is f**ing queers Yo, y'all can't f** with me. I'm like Cheers A round of applause