Eddie Ill & D.L. - Eddie Brock, PackFM, Esoteric, and Rok One Freestyle (The Time Has Come!) lyrics

[Intro: Eddie Brock] Yo, Eddie Ill, D.L. It's Mr. Brock. So get your fam, get your block, get your Glock. Check it out, yo. Yo, yo [Verse 1: Eddie Brock] Yo, there's a hundred ways to diss you in a verse. My lungs favor pistols With flavor crystals, so when I blast a rhyme, I'll make your center burst f** around, end up in a hearse, backseat-driving While I'll hurry you to your burial with your wack beat riding And hit eject. In all due disrespect You rapping rejects, I'm leaving your chest open like V-necks Y'all make me laugh like detects playing the low in blue Caprices Like n***as don't know who the beast is. My clique's The wrong crew to beef with. We call the shots—n***as from [?]- -‘ll be on your block in a fleet of whips like the Autobots With heist plots, taking all you got. A shorty you consider Top-notch are sort of like Scotch—they're on the rocks She ain't got the tight box, she don't get a call from Brock ‘Cause I focus like Cyclops and keep one eye on the crotch I'm putting five warning shots in your groin and knot Then form a pentagon when I use your blood to join the dots [Interlude 1: Eddie Brock and PackFM] Eddie Brock: Yeah, wha-what? PackFM: One time for your mind. PackFM, what? It's like, yo [Verse 2: PackFM] Your rhymes ain't even worth two cents, you nuisance You hear me in the cyph' and be like, “Damn, I'ma write some new sh**” Ain't nothing you can do, kid. I give heart attacks to Cupid Know exactly how to lose and I'm about to make you do it You'll get dusted when I'm acting up like allergies Be like a bite. Have a seat ‘cause you're too tired to handle me Emcees get canned quick with a five-cent deposit, locked in The basement with a gay one so they can't come out the closet It's only logic I'll clown these rappers in my pastime But they miss it ‘cause, when I diss ‘em, they're just catching the last line Chop ‘em up like suey—there's absolutely nothing left of ‘em They try to scream my rhymes, their voice gets Weezy like The Jeffersons Rhymes, I set it in bulk while you sit in your bed and you sulk Quicker to switch for the green than the Incredible Hulk But I wouldn't be in this rap sh** if I wanted crazy loot And I wouldn't be conceited if I wasn't crazy cute You got hit with a stray rhyme. “I'm sorry. He made me shoot” My rhymes stick out like Foxy Brown's stomach in bathing suits I'll battle you, doing your overdoes. I'm over men The best wrapping/rapping on your tape is the plastic, so I won't open it My writtens are so dope, y'all n***as beg me to free But the last time I came off of the head, your girl was on her knees So f** a freestyle even though I'm one of the best at this I got your moms worried ‘cause all my role models are wrestlers Walking the street with the foreign knife to get my [?] Smacking your face in the turnbuckle just to make you look back Thinking of looking valued, thinking that you a heartthrob When your father is [?] and your mother is Dennis Rodman I'm not the one for testing, nor for second-guessing I'll stop schooling emcees ‘cause they just don't learn their lesson I'm ill enough to sell the Cocoa beans of Smith & Wesson Don't dial nine-eleven. You better dial seven for heaven But you won't be going there. You'll be going downstairs In a chair behind Satan, being his b**h and braiding his hair [Interlude 2: PackFM and Esoteric] PackFM: What? PackFM, yo. [?] Esoteric: Yo, it's Esoteric. Yo, yo, yo, check it out [Verse 3: Esoteric] My words attack troops of rap groups with wack loops In comparison, you're embarra**ing. I'm stacking loot Wearing black suits to your funeral like it's a musical It's usual cats [?] like I'm marsupial It's beautiful, suitable for fashion models It's astrological as Aristotle, [?] smashing bottles Off your noggin. 7 makes tracks that get to bogging Emcees, beware whenever I start rocking I'm Galactus eating planets, exhaling your atmosphere Rappers fear my existence—that's why they keep their distance Your sh** is so weak that you must be kicking misprints Or typos. I strike those with tight flows who claim They're psycho and stupid. We'll step to the ones who proved it City-wide, I'll face cats like Kitty Pride Dignified samurai. Your franchise will fall short Come on, chief, I'm on point like [?] [Interlude 3: Esoteric and Rok One] Esoteric: Word up, that's how we do. You know the deal. For Eddie Ill & D.L Rok One: Yeah, yeah. Check this out, y'all. It's Rok One, motherf**ers. Yo, yo [Verse 4: Rok One] Well, I'm an underground favorite, tearing down stages So nice, I should have gone platinum more times than the hair on rave kids And, yet, I've stayed with a basic basis for greatness I rock crowds of Indian cows—my style's sacred Take this as an example of the style I spit Rap music needs some new blood—call me hip hop's dialysis Each verse a catalyst for putting talentless lyricists In paralysis, so I advise you not to challenge this ‘Cause the sh** I spit'll turn even the strongest men into misfits When I rock, I'll light the place like Rockefeller Center at Christmas So I suggest you keep you and your men at a distance ‘Cause they'll be dead in an instant ‘cause my style burns better than incense You get dismembered and dismissed. I'm way ahead of you infants Verbally end your existence, then I'll wipe my weapon of imprints Too intense, to leave your mind blown's what I'm after I got kids rewiring their tape decks to rewind faster. sh** This style, I've mastered it. The outcome is disasterous You ain't no match for this in sk**s, lyrics, or craftsmanship Your track is dissed while mines is worth a salary. I keep it real Like dating ugly girls because you like their personalities The day you have enough strategy to battle me, that'll be Never, but I accept your try as flattery I know you're mad at me, but Rok One'll always get the job done For me, it ain't a problem to be nice. Word to God, son It's like that. I don't play no games I'd like to say, “Peace,” to my motherf**ing man James [Outro: Rok One] And I'm out. Rok One. Peace to Big Scrap, Dr. Dekay. And I'm out. Take me out