[Intro: Brooklyn Academy]
Brooklyn Ac’, niggas
[Hook: Icon]
Yo, yo, ayyo, we need money for my niggas to keep money
Our seeds hungry, so I sleep and breathe money
It’s Brooklon. We getting it on, we deep, money
Brooklyn Ac’ clapping the map and keep money
[Verse 1: Icon]
No chain on my neck. New cat claiming respect
I’m not a doctor but I could stop the pain in your chest
Fuck killing y’all niggas—I’m hanging the flesh
I’ll draw two guns to you, demand my respect
And the shit that I write? Believe that it’s true
‘Cause if you cross my path once, you leaving in two
Or in the back of a ambulance, breathing in tubes
So when you die, they'll resurrect you like king of the Jews
Stating my name for niggas on the back of the train
With a three-dollar Metro card, flashing they chain
And, no, I don’t got money. Don’t ask me again
‘Til my first of the month—niggas cashing they check
[Hook: Icon]
Yo, ayyo, we need money for my niggas to keep money
Our seeds hungry, so I sleep and breathe money
It’s Brooklon. We getting it on, we deep, money
Brooklyn Ac’ clapping the map and keep money
[Verse 2: Pumpkinhead]
We got the block locked like Giuliani in The Village
I’m the type to steal your watch, turn around and change my image
That’s just the life I’m living. Enticing women
Who rock ice and linen. It’s like playing dice for millions
The mic I’m ripping, Baccardi light-sipping
Don’t start tripping—Brooklyn Ac’ won every fight we’ve been in
I heist the Chrysler building. Hide the wife and children
I got the massive plan, attracting fans with new additions
Like Michael Bivins, so all hail. We getting money and won’t fail
And guzzle champagne from the Holy Grail
You know me well. I’m hard to kill like Seagal
Except no ponytail. Your crew is frail
We fighting tooth and nail. Check SoundScan for proof of sale
Let the truth prevail: we getting cream by any means like you’s in jail
The “Con Artist” like Judas. For thirty pieces of silver, I’ll kill y’all, I'm moving this
[Hook: Icon] (x2)
Yo, yo, ayyo, we need money for my niggas to keep money
Our seeds hungry, so I sleep and breathe money
It’s Brooklon. We getting it on, we deep, money
Brooklyn Ac’ clapping the map and keep money
[Verse 3: Mr. Metaphor]
This be that grade-A shit, the top of the line
That money, payday shit, French cheese and wine
Yo, the fans stay lit with a twist of lime
But when the Ac’ stage flip, lose control of your mind
In your old basement, bombs bump in my lines
I’m like a gold bracelet in the Sun when it shines
I leave your whole face lit from the soul in my rhyme
And you could almost taste it. Son, we rightful divine
Feel the bass drum kick under your feet
Watch me say some dumb shit like, “Who did this beat?”
We move for the street, feed you with a spoon through your teeth
The sooner we eat, the sooner I’ma turn a new leaf
I’m burning beneath. The music made me turn in my sleep
Burning the beat, slowly got you slurring your speech
Numbing your mouth, fucking with the nerves in your cheeks
You nervous to speak. We feed you from the curb to the street
[Hook: Icon]
Ayyo, we need money for my niggas to keep money
Our seeds hungry, so I sleep and breathe money
It’s Brooklon. We getting it on, we deep, money
Brooklyn Ac’ clapping the map and keep money
[Verse 4: Block McCloud]
You got the nerve to ask can I flow when you damn well know
Who ran the show, and, on the Mic, I’m –angelo
Blessed with flows like John the Baptist, songs we practice
Strong as Atlas, [hard cheeks?] [the carpets/coffins matches?]
I want dough like Johnny Mathis
Chicks with the strongest asses, bony catfish on the mattress
I want my fans beyond this nation
I want my family on location at a Grammy nomination
I’m the Block—who gonna block me?
I could be cocky like Rocky—won’t get cocky ‘cause that’s not me
I’m McCloud—who gonna cloud me?
I could see clearly now, G. There, ain't this Audi? I don’t doubt me
Represent the Ac’ proudly
We could astound, abound soundly with our sounds from Kings County
Collect a bounty on a munity ‘cause loot be
The root of evil—people, pirates split the booty
I’m chopping meat and packing parts of for sale in Western beef
Pick on you to force the residue that’s left in teeth
You rest in pieces, your momma left in grief for ya
Manhattan keep on making it, Brooklyn keep on thieving ya
[Hook: Icon] (x2)
Yo, yo, ayyo, we need money for my niggas to keep money
Our seeds hungry, so I sleep and breathe money
It’s Brooklon. We getting it on, we deep, money
Brooklyn Ac’ clapping the map and keep money
