Brooklyn Academy Freestyle (A Long Rhyme Coming: The 1999 to 2002 Sessions Pt. 1)

[Intro: Lil Lego and Will Tell]
Lil Lego: Yo. Yo, Eddie Ill. Brooklyn Ac’ part two. Yo
Will Tell: Will Tell, nigga. What? Nigga, don’t do that. Nigga, don’t do that. Yo

[Verse 1: Will Tell]
Don’t believe what you perceive, nigga. It’s just
An illusion, one of my methods of confusion
Hidden cures of literature. Two hits:
Me hitting you, you hitting the floor
New shit, forbidden laws of spitting the raw
Musical massacre, gutter format hitting you off
A gift from the Lord sent down, a vicious form
To christen your sores, bless your shields, then shift in form
Then I bring you the gift upon
Any dawg, here’s some trees to get lifted on
Just to see who’s weak or strong ‘cause the leader
Upon this shit eat and bleed this song

[Verse 2: Bishop]
Yo, yo, it’s our turn. Show me the light, give me some burn
Live it and learn, post up, pivot, and turn
Game done, duke. This ain’t for fun, duke
I’ll destroy all y’all producers with just one loop
So don’t ask me for a track ‘less you got dumb loot
‘Cause I’m a grimy nigga that don’t even got one suit
Slum flutes, five niggas cut from the same cloth
Y’all butt niggas that just front and remain soft

[Verse 3: I-See-On]
I’s the pope, swing pendulum ropes—the King James version
Swallow oceans, hold enough thoughts to leave the Earth swerving
I’m living life to the fullest extent and I’m
Not gonna stop ‘til I’m up in a bulletproof Bent
On a flying coop, I’ma leave Earth and find the truth
And date back to the day that Eve bit the forbidden fruit
Spit at you, holding a thought in my visuals
Ginsu knife carve in your face, split ‘em in two

[Verse 4: Mr. Metaphor]
With bare hands, I’ll rip a nickel. I’ll spit
Tears into your soul ‘til you turn pickle
Ayyo, I’m Big John Studd. You Stuart Little
We at the top of this game. Y’all the monkey in the middle
I’m Jack Frost spitting, harden your nipple. I’ll turn
Your body rigor mortis and carve in my initial
I’ll rip you up like Scottie Tissue, hit you up like
A commie missile, make you wile out like a zombie bit you
I’ll stuff your mouth with my mic and turn your lip blue
I’ll build a house without ice and call it igloo
I want the Cream like Bristol. I had a dream
My pistols shot up your spleen and split you. Don’t try to scream
I’ll get you. I’ll hit you with a train and stick you
Toss you in a ditch and ditch you. Bitch, you wish you had a clique that miss you
My gat kiss you—muah—then lift you
Red trickle down your head tissue—you’s a dead issue

[Verse 5: Pumpkinhead]
I’ll move like Dirty Harry. Three-fifty-seven burn niggas
Like the movie Carrie. Run in your crib, snatch up the kids
And shoot the nanny. How you a thug rocking boots and panties?
My niggas is drawn booze. You fruit and candy
Sweet and feminine. I’m a quiet thug and my gun
Is decadent—four-five nickel-plate, pearl handle
Weapon shit wetting shit excellent. Never hesitant
To leave a nigga looking like The Exorcist
His neck’ll twist three-sixty. Heaven-sent spit
Holy water, Genesis penmanship leave you dead and stiff
Like a corpse with a hard-on. Bring your squad on
They’re bitches in a SisQó video with their thongs on
My four-four alarm have you walking around
With no arms on. Don’t puff out your chest unless you got
A bra on. Nigga, I’ll untwist your cornrows
With a crossbow and toss your lost soul to the crossroads

[Verse 6: Bishop]
Ayyo, I’m cashing in light mics and bring birth to eyesights
What I write could be you, so hijack flights
Watch the runway and clear it out ‘cause there might be gunplay
There might be none, but, with me, it’s a hell of a gamble
Say your “Hail Mary”s, call the cops and ambulances
I’ll spit Switzerland mountain raps that avalanche
All opposing opponents circling the one and chosen
Bishop microphone a therapy for niggas’ colons
And when I drop, it’s like pennies off the World Trade
Seemed like small change but hit like a fucking grenade
I wish I had a buck for every ear that I infected
You hear me, you’ll feel violated—your head’s been molested
I’ll get all up in you, burn your shit like stomach acid
Try to cough me up, you’ll feel your throat closing rapid
Hear your flows stutter, eyes crossed, bones collapsing
Left your fam dancing with devils
Cannibal rebel. I’ll eat the mic instead of you
‘Cause, when I spit back, I’ll turn gas to clear crystals
Nigga, you fucking with me and ducking me, pull a
Forty-four longnose out the jeans and tuck it with me

[Verse 7: Block McCloud]
You’re fidgeting, a tad nervous. Flows are riveting
To have you shivering in your Timberlands if simpleton
Your wifey get the slippery ting, giving me tings—in fact
Every day without you and me ever meeting
I’ll hit you so hard, you’ll never regain, never regain
Consciousness. You’ll remain walking Memory Lane. I’m a-
-head of the game, better than battering editors
Editing journals and letters, gutting ‘em like internal medicine
Let every word I said be embedded in brains. Your men are
In danger—ten of ‘em Cain left dismembered and maimed
And mangled and tangled into bangles and chains. I’ll trample
Your brains, leave you hanging from veins and arteries
You want no part of me—this man is insane, got loose screws
In here. Kid refused to hear. I used his ears for souvenirs
Too many years. I’m rumbling, I’m running in like Gunga Din
More jungle when I brought some string and hung some kids from jungle gyms