Me and You

[Intro: Pumpkinhead]
Jeah. Haha. It’s Pumpkinhead. Brooklyn Academy. Welcome. What you about to witness

[Verse 1: Pumpkinhead]
If you want to see your worst nightmare, look at here
With a crooked stare, the fire in my eyes will cook your beard
The look of fear takes over ‘til your body breaks down
Compounds of bravery ‘til you blatantly shook from tears
No one’s higher on God’s choir
Skin your face and light your skull on fire like Ghost Rider
Spitting space ‘til I’m given grace by the Most High
Approach, I slit your neck and expose your throat wires
The secret weapon kept in a decompression section
To test, this expert of air rhyming ‘til I’m breathless
‘Til they found out I could rhyme in succession ‘til the end of the session
I started speaking backwards in Pig Latin a secret message
OstradamusNay redictedpay arrivalay of the ickestsay apperray that is laid to this day
Brooklyn Academy and The Plague is backing me
If you want to battle me, you better charge your battery
The Olympic athlete that’ll chew Chinese apple seeds
And rapidly spit fifty-three holes into your anatomy
I happily slap emcees that’s hardly rocking
You too amped, son. Calm down, snort some OxyContin
The modern fascist who stalks the atlas
And drowns in sorrows and liquid of John the Baptist
I was born on a throne with a crown of thorns
Dangerous like skull and bones in a quiet storm

[Hook: Block McCloud]
Look who’s back?
The champion of the Brooklyn Ac’
You can’t win. We could go trick for track
We can’t lose—we got what you lack
Now bring it back again. We can’t lose
Get it through your head. It’s making news (Brooklyn represent)
Like me and you, your momma and your cousin too (Where Brooklyn at?)

[Verse 2: Pumpkinhead]
I’m back to my old ways, vintage rhyme patterns
The mind shatters, your spine collapses in nine fragments
I’m composed of nine gases
I suppose I rose from alien souls inside Saturn
I’ve denounced The Seventh Sign and align planets
Told tales of old, spit holes in foes
With the impact of a iron cannon. My terminology
And my philosophy is beats, rhymes, and pharmacology
I’ll biopsy your biology. I cannot see
A carbon copy copy me. The studio’s the gym, the world a boxing ring
Southpaw tap jaws. Nigga develop
Slow motivational skills like Ali—crown me king
The fallen hero plots revenge, will scorch your earlobe
And take my place among the saints in a stained-glass window
Hell’s outcast and Heaven’s flunkie
With the ability to spit sick the equivalent of Twelve Monkeys
I walk barefoot on broken glass
‘Til the blood from my foot coagulates into a solid mass
Swing the pendulum, leave ‘em for dead
So I’m back together with a needle and thread
I got it wrapped like a Middle Easterner’s head. Al Qaeda revolutionary
Praying on a mat, facing the Sun on the first of January
Brooklyn Academy graduate of insanity
Represent hip hop happily. Bow down to your majesty

[Hook: Block McCloud]
Look who’s back?
The champion of the Brooklyn Ac’
You can’t win. We could go trick for track
We can’t lose—we got what you lack
Now bring it back again. We can’t lose
Get it through your head. It’s making news (Brooklyn represent)
Like me and you, your momma and your cousin too (Where Brooklyn at)

[Verse 3: Pumpkinhead]
Friend or foe, tell me now
Or forever hold your peace/piece in a hand-me-down casket—blao!
Through all the pain, director of wordplay
With a flow so great, in a year, it’ll leave the Earth drained
I chose my side. The lines were drawn in the sand
With a wave of the hand, I could disable you ungrateful fools
Beat the angel Gabriel. What a frightening image
Who spit it, clocks at seven thousand lyrics in twenty-two minutes?
Pumpkinhead is the underground’s Joseph Stalin
The industry’s assassin of John Lennon
Nuyorican like Piñero. King disguised as a peasant
Resurrection on 9/11, predestined to live untested
Emperor ruler, iron-fist Lex Luger to step to ya
The next loser could get ten in his chest. Now I can see through ya
Y’all Jamie Kennedy rappers, backpackers
Wannabe Marshall Mathers, holding up banners like it really matters
I’ll spit on those who mock hip hop
Like y’all decide what is and what’s not hip hop
This is an open invite to you faggoty emcees
That can’t a mic right: get your flows tight and then write
I got flows that’ll break you thug rappers
From skateboard to I’m-crazy-and-I-take-drug rappers
To me, you’re all fudge crackers. Toe to toe, get your skull fractured
A middle finger with a smile. All hail the champion

[Hook: Block McCloud]
Look who’s back?
The champion of the Brooklyn Ac’
You can’t win. We could go trick for track
We can’t lose—we got what you lack
Now bring it back again. We can’t lose
Get it through your head. It’s making news (Brooklyn represent)
Like me and you, your momma and your cousin too (Where Brooklyn at?)