We Get It On

[Intro (Overlapped with Hook): Mr. Metaphor]
Yeah. Nah’mean? We want it all. Know’m saying? Taking it all. Yeah, taking it all

[Hook: I-See-On]
We get it on, keep it real, son. We always stand our ground
Never run in beef. Fuck that, son, ‘til we die
We get it on. My niggas wile out, smash you with a Heineken bottle
This shit is on this year—nigga, who want it?

[Verse 1: Mr. Metaphor]
Yo, yo, get your mic detached. I’ll kill your ass like a diaper rash
Fuck a righteous path—I’m out to fight for cash, cypher smash
Smoke some grass, stick my hands in broken glass and choke your ass
Slash an open gash in your throat sack, push your vocals back
Met be burning cats. Better learn or watch the thermostat
I spit murder raps. You heard of that? Get your sternum cracked
MCs be so wack that they can’t be close to rap, but no holding back
Fight to the death like fiends over crack
A fucking verbal pyro burn your vinyl. My rhyme will
Strike terror in your mind and make your skin turn albino
I paralyze your heart and let it rise up your spinal
‘Til your body lay beside you and the light of God guide you
I’m like Canibus, Eminem, KRS, and Nas times two
I’m primetime, duke. Don’t give a fuck who you signed to
Fuck a dotted line. Y’all gots no shine. I’m raw with mine. You borderline
Son, I was born to rhyme all day, all the time. Let’s all combine
And spit ‘til there’s no more fucking sunshine
Spin ‘em up high, tilt the barrel at my head and let the gun cry

[Hook: I-See-On]
We get it on, keep it real, son. We always stand our ground
Never run in beef. Fuck that, son, ‘til we die
We get it on. My niggas wile out, smash you with a Heineken bottle
This shit is on this year—nigga, who want it?
We get it on, fucking pop your eye sockets out, duke
Have you rocking goggles on some wild shit, yo
We get it on. You fucking crazy, duke? I’m Picasso of this shit
Man, these canvas-head niggas get face paintings

[Verse 2: Pumpkinhead]
I freeze a track when I rap, spitting the murderous
D.O.A., tag-on-your-toe, John Doe rap
That uncontrolled rap, stay-at-home rap, that chrome rap
That break-your-bone rap. Snap backs, legs, toes, and nose rap
That hardcore rap
That PH and Metaphor rap. Brooklyn Ac’ contact
Ready for combat with big MACs and machetes
That twist back your spaghetti, lift your ass into a Chevy
My screw is loose. Spitting darts in your eyes
Empty out your pupil juice. Ruthless youths
Chase you like brutes and shoot and boost your goose
It’s Brook-nam, nigga. I’m like a fisher how I hook on, niggas
Bob and weave, lock your knees, pop your sleeves off
When I cock and squeeze off
Breeze north. I’m horror, jigga nigga like Shawn Carter
End a KitKat, put a pickaxe to your six-pack
We get it on like my niggas where the chicks at
We get it on. I’ll break your hand and push your wrist back

[Hook: I-See-On]
We get it on, keep it real, son. We always stand our ground
Never run in beef. Fuck that, son, ‘til we die
We get it on. My niggas wile out, smash you with a Heineken bottle
This shit is on this year—nigga, who want it?
We get it on, fucking pop your eye sockets out, duke
Have you rocking goggles on some wild shit, yo
We get it on. You fucking crazy, duke? I’m Picasso of this shit
Man, these canvas-head niggas get face paintings
We get it on