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brooklyn academy - don't sleep كلمات الأغنية

[hook: block mccloud and jean grae]
don’t sleep. we will k!ll you as we’re
creeping through the night
don’t weep. climbing through your bedroom
window as we’re creeping through the night

[interlude 1 (overlapped with hook): block mccloud]
yeah. brooklyn ac’, b-tch. yeah. yo, will tell (will tell), beat is fire, son. (block mccleasy) block mccloud. check this

[verse 1: block mccloud]
ayyo, i’ll rip shot, tick tock around the clock. building block
been around the block a couple times with this hip hop
young chap, chipper with a tongue flap like flip-flops
gun claps, spit shots. it’s not a comeback
i’ve been here for ten years. yours truly sincere
spitting in your ear, you’re hearing, drip tears, your ink smears
unreadable. some feed you bull and some of y’all
eat it ‘til you’re full. i’m el truth, unbeatable
got the proof y’all not the truth, son. got the juice
contacts out the wazoo. plus block produce
beats that’s got your goose cooked, shook like cops in
hot pursue. best cat to spit since dr. seuss
unlock a gun, c-ck it, shoot it to sunblock
run through your crew and your chickens with my c-ck-a-doodle-doo
man, your chick’s done flew the coop—toot-a-loo
magic stick a voodoo to have ‘em jumping through some hula hoops
bumming ’cause they love me. they say, “give me the loot”
all they get’s honey, l!cking their tummy like they winnie-the-pooh
skip to my loot, skip to my loot. i’m
sick with a flu spit. sip on my juice—kids bit it
chip on their tooth, chip on their tooth. i’m sl!ck with it
loose like chicks on a deuce. your wrist slitted, b-tch

[interlude 2: black panther and diabolic]
black panther: b-tches, you haven’t slit your wrists yet? (come on) you’re not dead? come on, die. this is brooklyn ac’, black panther. yo, we coming through. we got a new member in the crew to spit. (who’s that?) yo, what’s your name, son? tell me
diabolic: diabolic
black panther: (go get ’em) who you rep?
diabolic: brooklyn academy, yo
black panther: (come on) yo, spit that

[verse 2: diabolic]
ride or die? i die to ride but got too high to drive
jumped in the driver’s side, made a six and five collide
and i survived as my own violent copilot
in the p-ssenger’s seat, blasting the heat while i ghost ride it
hit a tree, crash it, smash your dash’s cheap plastic
k!ll your boy and still avoid a six-foot-deep casket
complete savage on the streets with e tablets
while d’s in a green caprice cl-ssic creep past it
it seems drastic drunk in lie traffic
forced to wreak havoc with an ounce-a-week weed habit
but i keep at it, chase paper with a straight razor
stumble home late night and hate life a day later
’cause life’s a b-tch who only treat you right when you’re twice as rich
but if you’re broke, she’ll cut your throat and slice your wrists
i might just flip, grab and beat a cop by the weed spot
drag him through three blocks while other police watch
forewarning: punks who grill like george foreman
‘til my four hors-m-n kick they second floor door in
where cats record, smash the chord, sn-tch the board
and choke you with the rca jack attachment chord
y’all are strapped for war? clapping back and forth?
as a last resort, i’ll stab you with a plastic fork
but the streets is watching. lots of birds got some words
so while the block observes, i’ma lock its optic nerve
just watch and learn, sn-tch a glock from a cop’s holster
shower shots over the entire pop culture
i’m supposed to rep. see, i knew my soul was blessed
when i could hold my breath long enough to see you choke to death
both hands around your throat glands for a few crumbs
drunk off bourbon, searching for stores to boost from
i ain’t asked for nothing, schooled myself in cash corruption
friends who’d snipe me and wifey p-ssing judgement
i learned most, with my first toke of sherm smoke
was an accident i put a hatchet in this turncoat
took cheese and blew it on gear for the d’s your crew with
so y’all have something to wear when you’re leaking fluid, bleeding through it
under the influence, driving drunk, frying skunk
pulling over to throw a rising punch ‘til both your eyes are lumped
got hash and indo right here, no job or resume
just half a demo and the gear i was rocking yesterday
i’m losing it, a lunatic who’d use a fist
to abuse your chick’s uterus when i throw bows like ludacris
your crew’s too b-tch to fathom a magnum shooting with
the intension of apprehending your platinum crucifix
but knowledge is power, plus sn-tching wallets from cowards
beats ‘bolic at tower, working for six dollars an hour
now the game’s an open stage to release a prisoner
who’s aiming a loaded gage at the police commissioner
i took advantage, looked at a good book for answers
the art of war, painting masterpieces on a crooked canvas
throw a right hook and land it to beat your weak jaw
with every freaking cheap wh0r- screaming, “he’s raw”
on funk flex front steps ‘til he unleashes c4
and that’ll be nuclear winter for the eastern seaboard
my sh-t reaches each store. i’ll play the hand i’m dealt
if not, i’ll fill my trunk and give ’em straight to fans myself
there’s two dozen crews thugging who say that you nothing
they say that you bluffing ’cause of the place you grew up in
now you gangsters and thugs hanging in clubs, shooting ’em up
with .22s on the truck and 100 proof in a cup
controlling blocks with c0ke and rock, holding glocks
no, you’re not. prove it, shoot this patrolling cop
just load and lock the fullest clip you’ve got, then pull and cl!ck
l!ck shots ’til bullets hit. if not, you’re full of sh-t

[verse 3: jean grae]
i’m a latter-day saint terror, frame draped with a leather
cape with metal buckles around the face so i escape quicker
standing on the top landing of a skyscr-per
with the cops chanting and the helicopters taking shots at me
millennium boots. better ready your noose
my steady hand will machete any living thing that moves
lose a lot of body fluids when p-ssing and bleeding
i’m a ridiculous heathen with syphilis like sickness when breathing
human taxidermy, actual rappers laying with backs on gurneys
stab to stop reactions from the scalpel turning
catch me at all functions cursing at somebody
or robbing purses at church luncheons, lurking in the pews, ducking
the priest molester with a child abuser he detect. i find it highly amusing
to fry the devil’s hide, they’re trying to pry into a child’s r-ct-m
so i dissect ‘em. god let them cry while i’m waving by some side exits
dialect especially challenging like a kenyan running backwards
embarr-ssing amputee runners from p-ssing them
hock phlegm rapidly, smarter or candidly
i’ll never be a martyr—the afterlife couldn’t handle me
open your chest like a can, i’ll be damaging
your whole humanity until you panic and burst your anatomy
i’m stealth—you’ll never corner jean. i move with the zephyr
so who’s next? i got a whole f-cking slew of vendettas

[verse 4: pumpkinhead]
dudes be rhyming gangster with them sh-tty lyrics
you fake. why you emulating 50’s image?
and wait. how you a drug dealer pushing renteds?
and come up short with the weight like a skinny midget?
okay, i won’t hate. i’ma just get these digits
i’m so sick, they got my transcript in every clinic
you so b-tch, you got raped in almost every prison
homeboy, listen. your bird is my pigeon
these words that i’m spitting got your bird slurping my jizzum
me and you in the game? someone told you a lie
don’t get lit up like a seaport on the fourth of july
back up. i’ll stab you with a fork in your eye
and tell everyone, “never again talk to this guy”
get some internet kids to spread rumors about ya
that ain’t your car—you fronting. really, i doubt ya
that’s a company driver and you pay him with vouchers
the outcome is this: the game is wrapped
by some motherf-ckers people call the “brooklyn ac’”
we not cooking crack. we got books with rap
that’ll shut the industry down and bring brooklyn back (n-gga)
what?

[hook: block mccloud and jean grae]
don’t sleep. we will k!ll you as we’re
creeping through the night
don’t weep. climbing through your bedroom
window as we’re creeping through the night

[verse 5: jean grae]
i’ll bite into you with iron t–th like a violent leech
blood’s an acquired taste. i’ll dry you on a quiet beach
like block, i’ll drain you, maim you to the pain
i came to disturb the physical curve of the game
grae matter f-cking up your thought pattern, scattered
erratic, neurotic, ebonic, slinger, banger of dope product
hypnotic drinker, exotic anger, melodic singer
a smoke addict allergic to cancer and asthmatics
a broke rapper indebted to credit like crack addicts
with good dealers who lean ’em a little. i’m mean
and when i dream, i double-dribble. my rem scenes
are coupled with ten teens in full schools with m-16s that giggle
i’ll rip your throat in the middle, watch you choke on your spittle
flying shrapnel side-attacks you when i run by in a black suit
why try to beat the maniacal rage of this diabolical, mega beat like i’m finding a slave?
with his feet on the table in the den of the plantation
then switch and jump in his body and smash the master’s face in
my lack of patience exceeds a normal level
i see the warning levels at green, but if you mettle, it screams
the unforgettable hypes. i might invite you to dance
with me, handsome, under pale moon light
cut your d-mn tongue, don’t repent for sh-t like i’m manson
badly handle a hand gun, madly shooting at random
with ample angles, aiming and missing, straight in your kitchen
when bacon sl!cking your children, pay attention—hey, your fate is ticking
my face is twitching, i’ma lose in pace, hallucinating
like i swallowed quarter-and-an-eighth case of peruvian weight
virgin f-cking, no lubrication. this conversation’s a combination
of motherf-ckers out to dead your occupation
lacerations form, we’ll be swarming you like some locust
engulfing and then inform you, “be warned. it’s the last dopest”

[hook: block mccloud and jean grae]
don’t sleep. we will k!ll you as we’re
creeping through the night
don’t weep. climbing through your bedroom
window as we’re creeping through the night

[outro (overlapped with hook): block mccloud]
this is your last warning—this is it. brooklyn ac’, we here. brooklyn ac’ is everywhere (all around). not only in brooklyn, you know, like, uh, staten island, detroit. but we here. numbers is growing. face it. in the street (3, 2, 1). get over it. die. die

- brooklyn academy

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