Lyrics Connect 4 - Will Tell, Brooklyn Academy

Connect 4

Ayyo, tropic reefer, Bloody Mary leaking margarita\nSangre fría, cold-blooded, verbal santería\nFallen horsemen, metamorphous to the form of porcelain\nGuard your eyes—no man can stand to my corpse’s coffin\nSpeed of cobras, the fragrance of Satan’s and demons' odors\nPrecede Jehovah and others the eyes of the evil ogres\nSacred scripts solidified inside my data chip\nHalf-man, half-water, walking the corridors of Satan’s pit\nI’m more than deep—I smoke the weed up out the coral reef\nVocals that slaughter beats, my raps contain the rawest meat\nThe holy prophet, the omen arose through a fallen comet\nCasted caskets to the corridors of Pontius Pilate\nRed desert bird keep the sky lit\nUltraviolet, seven-headed, wild hybrid\nWe’ll\nBreak you with word raps, collapse\nFall flat like a drug relapse, hurt\nCrack your kneecaps. Catch a flashback\nBack, twerp, track your steps on your backslaps\nS-slap, take a nap. Wanna scrap?\nWe could scrap—catch a fist like a cl-clap\nMy clowns attack, deep impact to be as exact\nBring it back. For a lack, I gots to relax\nProtect our flow like prophylact, tough\nSmoke a fast act (with a cat), so snatch that\nTake two, p-pass that. That Brooklyn Ac' cat\nUnderground where the rats at\nYo, this\nIs business. You get your feelings tossed and millis crossing\nFilling ditches, riches get us fixed, we’re killing snitches\nWill’s to riches, fortuneteller. Hell, he’s clocking dough like Rockefeller\nMcCloud, I rock the flow Blockapella\nYou «Put It In Your Mouth,» I’m Blockinyele when I bust mine, you find it\nHot in your belly. «Who Shot Ya?» Machiavelli\nI hold stock in every endeavor to give me leverage, the cleverest\nNever missed, devilish but cool like a beverage\nAce the test, faced the best and made a message\nRaise your essence, spray their flesh—it lays in lessons\nMade examples of, Will lay the samples loved. Women, I\nDamped their rug. Thugs, I amp ‘em up to champ above all\nStill on the rise, I don’t compromise. I conquer\nBomb from skies, swamp you, stomp your lies\nBeyond your wildest dreams, my style just gleams like a\nJagged edge, a dagger wedged in a violent scene\nYour mouth the shape of a silent scream, body uniden-\n-tifiable. When my temper rise, I’m liable\nTo end your lives. Sea-temperature dives, lending eyes to the blind\nThe words I emphasize create an enterprise\nI hold no grudge, show no love. Feel a cold\nSlug travel through your froze mug. My cold blood oppose\nThugs, pose with eyes closed and hold blunts\nKick your stomach ‘til you blow chunks. We ‘bout to blow up\nHeavy velocity, philosophy with the ferocity of\nA lion tearing apart your body seams, a nightmare\nThat makes your mommy scream in a dark corner\nOn a rocking chair, guzzling Cask & Cream. I see things like (Yo)\nFiends fight for hits of the pipe, gripping a knife\nA victim of Christ sipping on ice, smothered in vodka\nLiving the life, jigging your wife from a position that’s tight\nLight trees, give me the sight like a pigeon in flight\nYo, yo, I don’t play games in this rap shit, rip a track\nShit, clip the plastic, spit acid, burn fabrics (What?)\nHold steel like blacksmiths, rock an Avirex bulletproof jacket\nFor the racket, talking with a Brooklyn accent (Bitch)