[Intro: Pumpkinhead]
We’re back again. Yeah. New Will shit. Uh. Yeah. Will Tell shit. Uh. Yeah. Heh. Broadway, PH, yo (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
[Verse 1: Pumpkinhead]
I’m built for this game. You lame like a cripple
You a punk and only tough on the phone like Frank Rizzo
It’s the NBA shootout. I’ll swish through the hoop
You ain’t tall enough to play, ask someone for a boost
You could come to the studio but if you sound like Hova
I’ll kick you out for no reason like Korean store owners (Get out)
I’m the truth, the answer, the reason why you’re not on
Your girl at my crib, getting her log on/logon like dot-com
Get it? My log’s on her hot thong
She creeping on the low ‘cause she know I’m cock-strong
Brag about your dough, brag about your chain
I’ll brag about your ho and how she good with the brain
She graduated magna cum laude and I made her cum loudly
In the back of the Audi, bumping Al B
What happened, dog? I thought you was a player
I just proved you wrong. You just a spectator
I’m a player hater—that’s what the PH stand for
I roll with crazy Ricans that like to play handball
And we’ll use your face for practice
Like a handball and smack it ‘til our hands sore
What, you sad and mad ‘cause you can’t score?
And my team got a hundred on the damn boards
This is child’s play like Chutes and Ladders
Don’t make my mind spray ‘cause I’ll shoot a rapper, nigga
[Hook: Pumpkinhead and (Broadway)] (x2)
Put ‘em up (Put ‘em up), get ‘em up (Get ‘em up)
Roll it up (Light it up), smoke it up (Choke it up)
Coming through, rolling up, these cats will fold you up
Put the mic to your back outside and hold you up
[Verse 2: Broadway]
Refer to Broad as a wordsmith
Verse with the same pattern as a Saturn and a curb dish
My brain gather photogenic shots, Kodak
Finish plots off, capture them all when I’m in the spot
Y’all could hate me while I’m holding this rap shit
‘Cause the only support you’ll get when they’re holding your casket
I’m NASA-crafted by Secret Service in the past, kid
Involved in operations for niggas to get they ass kicked
Einstein or [?] couldn’t even graph this
And God in the heavens feel the thunders and my wrath, bitch
I’m deadly like the West Nile. My fresh style
Got Americans thinking I’m something straight out of X-Files
I’ll leave you out for the count in a day
Better believe a Glock’ll pound ya, have ya drowned in a bay
A sunny side with a mountain of haze. What’s a room?
When they running wild, funny smiles lounging to spray
I’ll pull your card from a deck of fifty-two and say, “Uno”
Ralph-Kramden your face, not to the Moon, but to Pluto
Back in the day, pumping weight like a sumo
And your peoples ain’t got your back ‘cause when they lost, you said, “Kudos”
[Verse 3: Pumpkinhead]
And guess who’s back? Me. I’ll feel sorry for you—too bad
PH capital flow. What you gonna do, man?
And when I splash, I’ll make waves like a durag
And I know, for a fact, I’m the reason you mad
I’m too nice, too quick, too fast. You knew that
Give me a mic, a cup of yak, and two bags
So pack up backwoods, a stage, and a few fans
I’ll rip it. To be specific, burn out equipment
I’ll drop hot singles consistent—y’all niggas listen
Y’all try to be hot, but what y’all missing is me
In that spot, I’m on top like Pippen and Jordan
When they were balling in Chicago. Vato sucio
I got a new flow. What you gonna do, yo?
You played out like Club Nouveau
We brand-new like money fresh out the mint
And I’ll scare you like, “Look at money jump out his skin”
And I dare you act funny and poke out your chin
I’ll break your back ‘til your spine poke out like fins
On a great white, we strike like a snakebite
And burn emcees like vampires exposed to daylight
[Hook: Pumpkinhead and (Broadway)] (x2)
Put ‘em up (Put ‘em up), get ‘em up (Get ‘em up)
Roll it up (Light it up), smoke it up (Choke it up)
Coming through, rolling up, these cats will fold you up
Put the mic to your back outside and hold you up
