Song Lyrics Eddie Ill DL - Brooklyn Academy Freestyle    [Lyrics & Song Text Archive]
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Author/Artist/Singer: Eddie Ill DL
Music Title/Track: Brooklyn Academy Freestyle
Theme ID: 3173
Album: N/A

f/ Brooklyn Academy


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


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


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


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!

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