Taken Um’ Back 2 School

Lyrics

Will Tell ft. Brooklyn Academy (ft. Mr. Metaphor, Pumpkinhead, Block McCloud, and I-See-On (AKA Icon)) - "Taken Um' Back 2 School (AKA Violent Habits)" [Emcee(s): Mr. Metaphor, Pumpkinhead, Block McCloud, and I-See-On (AKA Icon)] [Producer(s): Will Tell] [Verse 1: Mr. Metaphor] Violent habits. I scan the globe with the eyes of a savage Follow the light of my passage, stained glasses Restrained actions, I hold my hands back from striking Clash of the Titans. Ain't taking shit—it's my ass that you're wiping Dirty-minded and got support for every word behind it Observe my rhyme. It could start to climb and then clog your sinus Verbal pirates. The murderous thoughts rest inside us Hell survivors coming to life, where we dwell is the livest Gather 'round us and feel the force generate within It's counterbalanced, bite you like frost, flying down the mountains Through the valleys, over the hill. Son, my rhymes is countless Brooklyn's slouchiest raiding your houses, stealing your spouses Forty spaces between my words are where your face is And if you stand in any one, son, I'ma leave your mouth tasteless Take your wifey's fragrance, pawn it for a pound of dro, getting wasted Puffing lye in the basement with a twenty-four case in it And rhyme like we tasting this, spread the sauce and paste in it Draw the card with the face in it, play my hand and leave the ace in it You took my soul at birth, and now the world gonna pay for it Stay safe, kid. Life ain't what you make, it's how you take it [Verse 2: Pumpkinhead] That's my word. My army calmly wet up your dirty laundry We stalking these streets like zombies, puffing palm trees My godly flow shine more than Armani clothes and hit Like body blows from Riddick Bowe. You didn't know? Twisting dro, make the average Joe pigeon-toed I'm living low, protected by a wicked glow, reinforced By the sickest bros who would jig you slow while you Piss and moan. If all else fails, we let the pistol go Lift your soul. Four-cylinder rap team Powered by gasoline, Dr. King's last dream Brooklyn Ac' clap fiends for cash green, rock a mask unseen Hooded out, skully and gloves, looting your house Slam a tutu to the roof of your mouth Leave you with nothing left. I get nothing less than the best Thoughts I manifest process, made my heart of cold compress Put a hollow hole in your armpit. My conscious Is Monstrous like Lochness. Had to chill with the cess 'Cause when I slept, it gave me pains in my chest Amazingly stressed but still rep the O.B.S., Brooklyn Ac' Spit Squad, Congress, iron-palm grip [Hook: Block McCloud] (x2) Taking 'em back to school—learning now how to Act a fool. Son, you don't wanna battle we Put your mind in detention, so pay attention To the Brooklyn Academy [Verse 3: Block McCloud] There many Hard-pressed to see me like Hitler at a bar mitzvah You're part bitch, you give me the urge to start with ya Your scars split the minute I start to spit the Lyrics that carve into your carcass like a carpenter My sharp jig'll make your heart splinter, my inner cult Is harsh winters in Antarctica. My al- -coholic style is brolic. You think you fly? I'm fly-swatting You cry colic. I'm a byproduct of High product, smoke my chronic, kick like cryonic Hold a mic silent, my arm is bionic With psychotic eyes high on the psionic You see that floor? You could die on it. I'm a diabolic Spy plotting to put a shot in your eye socket When my optic observe, you have to try and cock it You shocked, kid? You had no prior knowledge. Put it in Your pocket, save it for later. For now, we skyrocket [Verse 4: I-See-On (AKA Icon)] Icon was born in the storm, bombing in Nam, a firearm Ringing four-alarms, lifting my palms Live and let die, bulletproof, BK, NY Armor to rise. We spark lye under the sky, vocally Animate any rapper that battles half as straight My class of explosive, ferocious flows make you dilapidate Surgically amputate, rehearsing these verses on masking tape Surviving shootouts where gods with thunderbolts conquered half the space Coming soon: Rebirth of Earth. Be the month of June While twelve Indians arise to the cries of a bloody moon The silent night. Dead in my shoes like a lifeless Christ My mic device devoured by hours speaking of violent sights We'll reach the sun. Vocally choking me made me eat my tongue My life is like a violin, my heartbeat's the drum Open the garden's gates. A marvelous race traveling Mars and space Icon the Great run wild, stomping, charging like starving apes My time's soon. Sitting for hours, watching a flower bloom The wisest from Osiris to Midas lay in a silent tomb I have the key. Fuck a crowd—the street chants for me Monopoly, the Parker Brother game strategy Pentium chip characteristic, brain sodomy Sincerely yours, Icon, Brooklyn Academy [Hook: Block McCloud] (x2) Taking 'em back to school—learning now how to Act a fool. Son, you don't wanna battle we Put your mind in detention, so pay attention To the Brooklyn Academy