O.B.S. Freestyle on Night Train 89.9

[Intro (Overlapped with The Bad Seed Adlibs): Pumpkinhead]
...on the beat. O.B.S. O.B.S. O.B.S. Uh uh uh, here we go. Here we go, yo. Yo

[Verse 1: Pumpkinhead]
I guess I’ll be the first to start it
Never kick it retarded. Emcees I’ll leave departed
Freestyle from the heart, kid. I’ll display this
Emcees get knocked to the grave, kid
When I come through with this extra sautéed shit
Yo, it’s frying in the skillet. Emcees better kill it
When I come through, you know that I fulfill it
Yo, my lyrical status is the baddest
I leave emcees leaving the saddest
Yo, I’ll be coming through, lyrically the fattest
Like a sumo. Ayyo, you know how I roll
With my crew, bro. Yo, O.B.S., we stay
Smoking the dro and, yo, we’re toking your ho
My lyrical styles is opening flows off the top of the dome
Ayyo, I represent Makin’ Records, beating kids down to the pavement
You’re in enslavement. Lyrical styles, I never displayed it
To a wack-ass emcee. I pass it to The B-A-D
S-E-double-E-D

[Verse 2: The Bad Seed]
Ayyo, this beat make me want to frown my grill up
Yo, you listen to Night Train. Ayyo, y’all niggas still up
Listening? What time is it on the radio dial?
Bad Seed, I come through, s-style wicked and wild
I’m fucking up my flow, don’t give a fuck
Remember when I used to have the fro, but now I rock what?
(The ways) There’s 360 ways niggas better behave
Ayyo, I ain’t no slave. Cut a nigga, put him in his grave
Pass the microphone off to my man, the Meat Pie
He can cook it up, make all these wack emcees die

[Verse 3: Meat Pie]
Slap you in your eye with my left hand
Eating granola with the right hand. You can’t understand
My method to my madness, man
Niggas be trying to masturbate on my plan
Not chill. I make a mill with [?]
Chilling on the beach, kicking sand in the water
Word is bond. Slap your little daughter with a quarter water
Word is bond. I’ll be the illest emcee that you ever know
Meat Pie, the bigger bro, the [?] nigga
The little nigga, the bigger nigga. How you figure, nigga?
I’m high, nigga. Eating granola bars and orange juice, nigga
Can’t you see me sitting with a [?]
Pizza box in front of my face, up in the place
89.9 is the place to be, NYC
It be the bigger nigga: M-E-A-T-P-I-E

[Verse 4: Pumpkinhead]
And now it be the P-U-to-the-M-P-the-K-I-N-H-E-A-D
Emcees try to play me when I display these lyrical tactics
Ayyo, I be the illest. I spill this
Lyrical styles. I’m the genius. Yo, you get the penis
Yo, you’re feminine like Venus
My style is a work of wonder
I come through, emcees get plundered. Ayyo, I’m bringing the thunder
And the lightning. It’s quiet frightening
My lyrical styles is inviting you
To an exciting battle. If you want to step, your head get rattled
Yo, this is freestyle of the top of the mental. It’s essential
Kicking it over instrumentals, I’m wonder with a pad and a pencil
Ayyo, I leave it stenciled, chalk your body out
Yo, I pull the shottie out. Emcees, I’ll smack you in your rotting mouth
If you try to come out your face. Ayyo, I’ll
Burn your eyes like Mace. Ayyo, I’m all up in the place
With my crew O.B.S. Yo, you know not to test
We burn mad sess until our eyes look like a red dress
Ayyo, to my nigga Bad Seed sitting on the left
Ayyo, you better grab the microphone ‘cause I’m running out of breath

[Verse 5: The Bad Seed]
Yo, I get on some Resident Evil, leave you all dead
I’m fed, punch a nigga in his head. Word up
I come through, leave the party red. Bad Seed come through
But don’t be misled. Ayyo, on a run from the Feds
Remember that. Ayyo, I’m up in the studio, making tracks
Ayyo, what you know about that? Smoke weed, not the crack
Smack a nigga in his face if he try to react
Fuck that. I come through with my O.B.S. crew, black
Pulling MACs, in fact
Pass the microphone off to Meat Pie
Ayyo, I don’t where I’m grabbing. I think I’m grabbing for the sky
‘Cause I’m a motherfucking star. Come through, kick you in your jaw
Word up. Ayyo, I think you need to go tell your ma and your pa
Ayyo, word up, I think they’re gonna inform your whole family
You don’t understand me. Ayyo, I need to win a Grammy
Word up, pass the microphone off to my motherfucking man
Up on my far right. Ayyo, rip shit down, aight, pa, right?

[Hook: All]
Now, tonight, I bet all of y’all are saying
What the fuck was that? What the fuck was that?
O.B.S. shit. Word up
Now, tonight, I bet all of you are saying
Yo, yo, yo, what the fuck was that? What the fuck was that?
What the fuck was that? Yo, yo, yo, what the fuck was that?
O.B.S., O.B.S., O.B.S., O.B.S
O.B.S., O.B.S., O.B.S., O.B.S

[Bridge: Pumpkinhead]
So are you gonna grab the mic, grab the mic?

[Verse 6: Meat Pie]
Gonna grab my headphones, keep going out of sight
I’ma keep it going on ‘cause I only got the beat
In the left one. Hold on
The right one is on
Now I can complete my fucking mission
I be the nigga Meat Pie. See, I seedada
I slipped up, but that’s aight ‘cause I’m mad high
Word is bond. I don’t know why it’s why
I need to drink some Bud Dry so I can loosen up my lyrics
So I could be fucking chilling, sipping Hennessey
And doing something else, but I can’t really comprehend
So somebody else take the microphone. Please, friend

[Verse 7: Pumpkinhead]
Ayyo, you said something about Hennessey. I’m sipping Remy Martin
I’ll leave the party starting and sparking emcees—yo, I’m haunting ‘em
Yo, I’m hunting ‘em like some bunch of deer and sheep in the forest
I’m a cool cat like Morris. Yo, I’m on a tour bus
Emcees, yo, uh, they try to ignore us
But we coming through, smacking emcees and make their skin pour pus
This is lyrical freestyle off the top. No chorus
I’ll be coming through and leave your whole crew jaw bust
Yo, I’m rocking the yellow Mecca shirt. It never hurts
I flirt with a girl, pick up her skirt, and then, yo, I splurt
To the next spot and get the pot and get mad high
Higher than a mountain, higher than a fountain
Shooting out water, I slaughter any emcee
Yo, his cousin, husband, or daughter
Ayyo, I come through. Ayyo, why I ought to
Smack you in the head for talking mad shit
Ayyo, I’m chilling with my crew and we sparking mad clips
Ayyo, we getting mad lift. I leave emcees with a bad lip
Hanging, dripping. Yo, I’m never slipping
My lyrical styles is ripping like a raptor
I hit you rappers, emcees—you better head for the rafters
Ayyo, I have to smack you in your grill again, make you realize
That we these guys that stay high. O.B.S. stay fly
Ayyo, we up in the Night Train. I’ll leave you with a tight brain
Holding your head. You’ll need a aspirin. Ayyo, I’m asking and
Emcees, I’m smacking them, axing them across the back and then
Attacking them. Ayyo, I’m never lacking in
Freestyle technician. Emcees, they’re wishing to come through
My propision. I fucked up my words in, but I’m coming through and
Hitting these emcees and herbs and
Slipping up in my wording. Ayyo, you’re absurd and
Try to freak my word and it’s hurting
“Emcees, yo, they can’t mess with me”—yo, that’s my word and
I’ll say it again. Ayyo, I’m ill with a pen or a pencil
Yo, or paper. Ayyo, I’ll rape ya
Feel the “Vapors” like Biz Markie. Emcees, they can’t stomp me
I’ll be coming through with my O.B.S. army. You can’t harm we
Yo, representing Brooklon to the fullest
Yo, we go to your chest like vests or bullets
And stuff like that. Ayyo, I kick tight raps
Emcees try to step back, but, yo, they need to play back
And listen to my record. Ayyo, say, “It wasn’t fresh”
So I could punch you in your chest and leave you with no breath
Ayyo, it’s on like that. We’re O.B.S., trooping hard
You try to step to my crew, you will get scarred
It’s like that, yo. We keep it flowing
O.B.S. constantly glowing and shining. Yo, we knowing

[Outro: The Bad Seed and (Meat Pie)]
(It’s like that, yo). No doubt. (Keep it flowing). No doubt. Keep it flowing