Brooklyn Academy - Me and You lyrics

[Intro: Pumpkinhead] Jeah. Haha. It's Pumpkinhead. Brooklyn Academy. Welcome. What you about to witness [Verse 1: Pumpkinhead] If you want to see your worst nightmare, look at here With a crooked stare, the fire in my eyes will cook your beard The look of fear takes over ‘til your body breaks down Compounds of bravery ‘til you blatantly shook from tears No one's higher on God's choir Skin your face and light your skull on fire like Ghost Rider Spitting space ‘til I'm given grace by the Most High Approach, I slit your neck and expose your throat wires The secret weapon kept in a decompression section To test, this expert of air rhyming ‘til I'm breathless ‘Til they found out I could rhyme in succession ‘til the end of the session I started speaking backwards in Pig Latin a secret message OstradamusNay redictedpay arrivalay of the ickestsay apperray that is laid to this day Brooklyn Academy and The Plague is backing me If you want to battle me, you better charge your battery The Olympic athlete that'll chew Chinese apple seeds And rapidly spit fifty-three holes into your anatomy I happily slap emcees that's hardly rocking You too amped, son. Calm down, snort some OxyContin The modern fascist who stalks the atlas And drowns in sorrows and liquid of John the Baptist I was born on a throne with a crown of thorns Dangerous like skull and bones in a quiet storm [Hook: Block McCloud] Look who's back? The champion of the Brooklyn Ac' You can't win. We could go trick for track We can't lose—we got what you lack Now bring it back again. We can't lose Get it through your head. It's making news (Brooklyn represent) Like me and you, your momma and your cousin too (Where Brooklyn at?) [Verse 2: Pumpkinhead] I'm back to my old ways, vintage rhyme patterns The mind shatters, your spine collapses in nine fragments I'm composed of nine gases I suppose I rose from alien souls inside Saturn I've denounced The Seventh Sign and align planets Told tales of old, spit holes in foes With the impact of a iron cannon. My terminology And my philosophy is beats, rhymes, and pharmacology I'll biopsy your biology. I cannot see A carbon copy copy me. The studio's the gym, the world a boxing ring Southpaw tap jaws. n***a develop Slow motivational sk**s like Ali—crown me king The fallen hero plots revenge, will scorch your earlobe And take my place among the saints in a stained-gla** window Hell's outcast and Heaven's flunkie With the ability to spit sick the equivalent of Twelve Monkeys I walk barefoot on broken gla** ‘Til the blood from my foot coagulates into a solid ma** Swing the pendulum, leave ‘em for dead So I'm back together with a needle and thread I got it wrapped like a Middle Easterner's head. Al Qaeda revolutionary Praying on a mat, facing the Sun on the first of January Brooklyn Academy graduate of insanity Represent hip hop happily. Bow down to your majesty [Hook: Block McCloud] Look who's back? The champion of the Brooklyn Ac' You can't win. We could go trick for track We can't lose—we got what you lack Now bring it back again. We can't lose Get it through your head. It's making news (Brooklyn represent) Like me and you, your momma and your cousin too (Where Brooklyn at) [Verse 3: Pumpkinhead] Friend or foe, tell me now Or forever hold your peace/piece in a hand-me-down casket—blao! Through all the pain, director of wordplay With a flow so great, in a year, it'll leave the Earth drained I chose my side. The lines were drawn in the sand With a wave of the hand, I could disable you ungrateful fools Beat the angel Gabriel. What a frightening image Who spit it, clocks at seven thousand lyrics in twenty-two minutes? Pumpkinhead is the underground's Joseph Stalin The industry's a**a**in of John Lennon Nuyorican like Piñero. King disguised as a peasant Resurrection on 9/11, predestined to live untested Emperor ruler, iron-fist Lex Luger to step to ya The next loser could get ten in his chest. Now I can see through ya Y'all Jamie Kennedy rappers, backpackers Wannabe Marshall Mathers, holding up banners like it really matters I'll spit on those who mock hip hop Like y'all decide what is and what's not hip hop This is an open invite to you f*ggoty emcees That can't a mic right: get your flows tight and then write I got flows that'll break you thug rappers From skateboard to I'm-crazy-and-I-take-drug rappers To me, you're all fudge crackers. Toe to toe, get your skull fractured A middle finger with a smile. All hail the champion [Hook: Block McCloud] Look who's back? The champion of the Brooklyn Ac' You can't win. We could go trick for track We can't lose—we got what you lack Now bring it back again. We can't lose Get it through your head. It's making news (Brooklyn represent) Like me and you, your momma and your cousin too (Where Brooklyn at?)