Artist: Eddie Ill & DL f/ Brooklyn Academy Album: Eddie Ill & DL Present... The Time Has Come! Song: Brooklyn Academy Freestyle Typed by: firstname.lastname@example.org Intro: Psss...Oh my god, Yo! These niggaz wil' out, son! Yo, Eddie Ill, man, do you know what you just did puttin these guys on your tape? Yo these niggaz is straight off the...yo they be wil'in, yo Brooklyn Ac DJ Eddie Ill, DL Three, comin' atchyou live in 3-d Is you ready for this, man? Brooklyn Ac [Mr. Metaphor] Ay-yo we indestructible son it's real like that You can shoot me with a bullet, it'll heal right back I'll eat forty MC's, as a real light snack Yo where the mic at? I lay my game down quite flat I got a tight rap I'ma stick in your head With a big fat blunt to leave you glistening red All the ladies know I'm bad, bad! and wicked in bed Cause some cats bite the bush, but I lick it instead But girl I'm only going down if you giving me head And I'ma "Put it on! Put it on!" like Kid Capri said Son I'm tougher than leather, I'll rip a verse like cheap thread Then put my hand on dick and make you love (?Deep Jay?) I got, no regrets, no weight on my back Put on your seat-belt strap it ain't safe on my track Fuck puttin out a name, I want my face on the map I want them gimme head shorties with they face in my lap Snake in the grass, I got your girl shakin her ass I roll with grimy BK cats who rake in your cash Son we 'robbin old folks and makin the dash' Jumpin through store fronts wild and breakin the glass I'm only looking toward the future, stay away from my past Cause I looked death in the face when I was eight and a half MC's is D- work, son I'm acin the class Circus clown acts, y'all keep makin me laugh [Icon] Ay-yo a nigga like me wanna get paid and these streets these streets, you they Canada Dry I lay you back with the plans in my mind, party dunn We in the back with our hats in the front, passin the blunt If there's beef then we blastin them up If I don't know you, I don't fuck with you counterfeit thugs Nigga, cause y'all just rent them cars, nigga, you semi-hard I'ma hit you with the semi-, you semi-gone And if you wanna battle, dude, I'll pull a gat on you I'ma put a whole in you, and your man in back of you and your man that's in back of him Nigga, that's only one bullet, imagine ten I'll kill a whole club, hold up I got it sewn up, my niggaz role up And y'all niggaz, ain't no thugs, never sold drugs I spit till I ain't gots no spit I spit during a lunar eclipse I spit till I ain't got no lips I'ma spit until my skin fall off Everything I spit is sick, I ain't well no more Hell's my cure, freed Jesus who was nailed to the cross Swallowed the devil, spit fire out the ?shit-pieced fork? [Block McLoud] Yo, yo, I beat you down like "Headare Nutsbound" On a bus bound for uptown cause you wouldn't gimme a bus down You ain't truly hard, I pull your card on the boulevard Rob you for your jewelry guard and jewelry card Cause I'ma, full retard, in fact I'll slap you silly I'll tap the jelly out your capillary Son your harmless, at your very worst you wouldn't accomplish a sidekick, you ride dicks, you like a armrest - you get elbowed! You're just a pussy cat with a pussy rap I'll bend your cap and push it back You a has been, you ain't lastin I can't get ? fastin, get tossed fast into the trash bin, you poo-put You get chewed up, like new gut You're a bitch screwed up, knocked up, then tubes cut You don't come off blue nuts, you're bashful Babblin blocks, a handful you can't handle [Pumpkinhead] I spit faster than the average rapper Brooklyn Ac a bunch of bastards that'll jack ya Quicker than a flash'a, Black talons comin at ya Pistol packer, we want your money, your wife, and the keys to your Acura And the number to your manager So we can whip his ass for even thinking you got stamina Nigga, we proffessionals with guns and the cameras So smell and say cheese, I put one in your bandanna I spit that sick shit, that give your mans cancer Black Panther, disguised as a panhandler Elbow you in the face like Tito Santana You can tell we hungry, you can tell we grungy I smoke blunts in front of the church, every Sunday Abuse crews cause they got loose screws like Kelly Bundy I can tell you dumbies, I can tell you funny And I can tell you gay like the Purple Telle-Tubby [Icon] Ay-yo Brooklyn Ac niggaz, we slap niggaz Battle wack niggaz, strapped with mac-millaz Cock-back and slap, average rap niggaz Snatch tracks with the impacts of crack dealers Battle for dough, battle for shines Battle for whips, battle for chips, NIGGA ITS ON! Ay-yo, battle for hoes, battle for dimes Battle for streets, battle for beats, NIGGA ITS ON!