The Professionals

[Intro: Block McCloud]
Yeah, yeah. What, what? Block McCloud, William Tell, Pumpkinhead. The professionals. Brooklyn Ac’, baby. Yeah

[Hook: Block McCloud] (x2)
The professional, the assassin, the killer in
Your Channel Nine thriller, the specialist
Contract on your head, a marked man. I’ll sign your death
Certificate. My heart’s cold enough to live with it

[Verse 1: Block McCloud]
The professionals dressed to kill. Get one death per mill
Use stealth and skill to achieve wealth once the weapon’s filled
I’ll terrorize from Heaven’s highs, inspect with eyes of eagles
‘Til dead, despised, can’t be recognized—my head’s disguised
With the best facades, can’t see us. We disappear like
A Wild West mirage. Specialists in espionage
Fuck a marked Luger—plastic gats get passed in parts through the
Metal detector, assembled by the sharpshooter
This terrorist never missed. The cleverest in the building
Past the parking lot, our way: step out your car, get shot (Blao!)
X marks the spot. Hearts get popped—hard to Block
Bullets tipped with Teflon, fullest clips ensure your head’s gone
The scene: left you deceased. Walked out the building dressed
As a priest. [?] your last life before you rest in peace
Suggesting to each spectator that I’m also a witness
Get lost in the crowd as I cross you off my hit list

[Hook: Block McCloud] (x2)
The professional, the assassin, the killer in
Your Channel Nine thriller, the specialist
Contract on your head, a marked man. I’ll sign your death
Certificate. My heart’s cold enough to live with it

[Verse 2: Will Tell]
I’m a professional. Cut your throat, put you in a hospital
Modern-day mercenary. No mission is impossible
First transmission, I could almost taste the cash. We hitting
Armored cars in Brooklyn, strapped with heat and Jason masks
Throw the guards down face-down. Fuck that shit. I want mine
I grabbed the bombs, be out before the three-minute response time
All civilians better stay far from the
Explosion when I detonate the getaway car. Don’t be
A cheapskate—one mill in unmarked bills. Nigga
The street place exchanged the bombs for the briefcase
These guys are good thieves, spies in hoods
Burning up your rapping books with killer lines and grappling hooks

[Hook: Block McCloud] (x2)
The professional, the assassin, the killer in
Your Channel Nine thriller, the specialist
Contract on your head, a marked man. I’ll sign your death
Certificate. My heart’s cold enough to live with it

[Verse 3: Pumpkinhead]
Yo, show me the briefcase, keep your hands where I can see ‘em
One false move and I’ll leave that head leaking (Bow!)
You got a job for me? Who are they? Where do they live?
Is it business or revenge and do they have any kids?
‘Cause that’ll double the fee ‘cause that brings trouble to me
I handle things quietly, silently. The professional
Society in trench coats to conceal rifles
With scopes, ignite at your throat, taking both for notes
With mad rounds, you’ll get clapped down. Assassins
With unknown backgrounds jumping down in black gowns
Camouflage garments, grenade under each armpit
Evade a building heavily guarded, I’ll execute my target
If someone enters the room, I’ll blend into the carpet
With daggers, I’ll cut the blood flow to your heart cartilage
You got sixty seconds to live. I’ll spit on your grave, shit on
Your name. Simple and plain, you wasn’t hip to the game
Six million ways to die: slitting your veins
Splitting your brain, torture devices, whips, and chains
Inflicting pain, sick and insane is how my victims
Are slain as their predicament changed deranged

[Hook: Block McCloud] (x2)
The professional, the assassin, the killer in
Your Channel Nine thriller, the specialist
Contract on your head, a marked man. I’ll sign your death
Certificate. My heart’s cold enough to live with it

[Interlude 1: Block McCloud]
*Hook Adlibs*

[Outro: Mr. Metaphor]
William Tell, Building Block, Pumpkinhead