Ace Lover, Stelf Index, Blowout, and Phase 1 Freestyle (A Long Rhyme Coming: The 1999 to 2002 Sessions Pt. 1)

[Intro: Ace Lover and (Blowout)]
One, two, one, two (One, two). We up in the studio. Uh. Yeah, yeah (What, what?). Mixtape. Yo, yo (Yo, Ace Lover). One, two, one, two. Yo

[Verse 1: Ace Lover]
Yo, peace to Eddie
Ill & D.L. They be real friendly
Classic style like beats on SPs
I like MPCs too. I’ll keep cool
In the vocal box. Women think my voice sound sexy
Word is bond. You could purchase this
At your local record store, feel the bass in your bird chest
Mixtape masters putting in work like
Community service. Ace Lover banging out platinum verses
Up rocking, pop-locking, old-school
Essence, presence, so won’t catch me rocking FUBU
The steadiest flow. I’ll practice
Stage-diving on a couch when I’m getting ready for show
My reflexes on point, style refreshing
Straight-up star status—A&Rs be stressing
It’s getting late. I got to get
The hell home. For booking and info, just hit me on
The cellphone. Peace, y’all

[Interlude 1: Stelf Index]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Stelf Index

[Verse 2: Stelf Index]
When Stronghold
Say, “Jump to the sky,” you reply, “How high?”
Yours become ours like erasing a “Y”
Millennium classic. Could care less about the difference of
Silver and platinum ‘less I snatched it. Forget a casket
Suffer eternal life without resurrection
Son s-s-s-s-stuttering like bad MP3 connections
My section ain’t C—a A creates form
Make you believe what you didn’t see: I’m an icon
I’m on these like turntable to a broken ground wire
Surround sound, spit fire. Higher level boosted
Low love—bad tennis skills and killed Cupid
Stronghold promotion motion cock, block-spray
Latin ladies call me “¡Ay, Stuffed Chocolate!”
Rivals are like broken toilet bowl: crapshoot
I’ll take this shit but spit it right back at you
Stelf Index Stronghold finger number 2, nigga
My mind’s a million gigabytes. You just bite Jigga

[Interlude 2: Blowout]
Peace, peace, peace, peace, peace, peace. Blowouts. Uh, Turntable Anihilists

[Verse 3: Blowout]
When I step up in the zone, I’m sure to stand straight
Won’t try to hide behind the black shades
I won’t try to run out through the back gate
Face-to-face, reflects off glass plates
Won’t allow disgrace to take this man’s place
Break fast through landscapes with a fast break
Escape plans when man plans with fake
Handshakes. What a great game, but I can’t brace
My arms and legs have pain. Who wants
To join my campaign? Who can withstand
Pain and is half-sane? What’s his last name?
If he’s a pussy, he gets gang-raped
Barricade with scatterbrains who salivate
But won’t make moves until it’s Saturday
Don’t pay dues and chill and masturbate
Expect their space when their brain is half-baked
Life’s fast-paced—that means I can’t wait
I’m trying to establish a what? A fan base

[Interlude 3: Phase 1]
What? Word up. Phase [?]. For my man Eddie Ill. Check it out. One, two. One, two. Yo

[Verse 4: Phase 1]
Me as Phase 1
I’m stealing typical. Bet the signs of the times
The rhymes I recite could stop time and just show it the si-g-nals
Through lyrical visuals, the eyes of the beholder
See me clear, invisible, [?] of the invincible
Spitting the principle punching points and push membranes
Words mush you in ways same as sticks and stones break frames
I heard your flow and asked where your head has been
Heard the flow’s hot. When you hear my voice box, you got that melanin
Texture is better than any watered-down, diluted
Rap veteran who think he’s still got it. Now are we
On the same page? You saying I ain’t blaze
Min, Cain, Dada, AIDS, and every dead rapper you know’s
In the flesh, out of their graves, saying I’m insane
Freak mainstream. I’ll give a bloodstream, pop a main vein
Rock songs in your mainframe. Make your song
Opposite of your name and against the world grain
Tough guys maintain Eddie Ill
Word up, this is classic. I’ll soar on tracks
Like dinos, Jurassic. Word up
You such a bizatch, I’ll rip you down
And you call it harassment. You so biyaitch
That, when I battle you...
You know’m saying? Word up
I do it, you nah’mean? DJ Static
Produces the beats. All the techniques is sweet
Out-of-this-limb-physique. I’m here, chilling with
My home girl Karina, lay back in the cut
And you know when I seen her, it was all good
In the neighborhood. It’s called Castle Hill
Right now, I’m trying to do my thing, earn my bills
Peace to Eddie Ill. He made this ill
Word up. Peace to Eddie Ill. He made this ill
Word up