Brooklyn Academy - Sound Byte lyrics

[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