lirik lagu cm famalam freestyle – the bad seed, icon, meat pie, and pumpkinhead
[verse 1: the bad seed]
ayyo, told you before. now you laying close to the floor
you forgot what the black thing in the holster was for
i’m a legend in the hood like bishop and tommy bunds
like old-school sh-t: stan smiths, tommy gun
two fifths cripple you, but the mac’ll body son
and i don’t fear no n-gg- that breathe—not a one
looking at me, you looking at about two mill
you looking at a n-gg- destined. every week, new wheels
if i don’t hold new york down, then, dog, who will?
my alb-m drop, n-gg-s break up like dru hill
starting coloring their hair and sh-t. rocking thong
underwear and sh-t. that right there is b-tch
how you gon’ come amongst dogs when you scared of pits?
only time you wile out: when you recording a skit
i rewind that and ask e-rock, “yo, where the 9 at?”
let’s go to these cats’ show, put a hole where their spine at
everything realer than real on my dats
a lot of n-gg-s gon’ crash at the wheel for my tracks
a lot of b-tches gon’ drop they drawers when i rap
‘cause life ain’t nothing but money. besides that
don’t sh-t count. i buy my beats on discount
‘cause it’s good as gold whenever my sh-t’s out
every word fall on blades whenever it slips out
seeing you at the grammys, holding my trophy with my d-ck out
million of cats is running up with their picks out
ready to die for me. holler at me with your chips out
n-gg-s going b-tch route? put hits out
then we get the chicks out, ice crucifix out
chips out, whips out, gun and clips out
n-gg-s scared like it’s the day suge gets out
state your name, gangster. bad seed, motherf-cker
pull your boots up. go tell your mother i want to f-ck her
[verse 2: icon]
ayyo, all y’all n-gg-s weaker than f-ck. don’t make me
creep in a truck. with the blings on, heaters is up
because y’all n-gg-s won’t see a thing. we all need the cream
i’m so cheap, i’ll squeeze a quarter ‘til the eagle scream
angelica, marie, tanya, and me dropped in a v
dropped in my seat, c-cking my heat
if n-gg-s try to front, then i’m popping my heat
with the gold lo lenses on—eighty a piece
i’ll have my n-gg-s put your parts in a bottle, put your
heart to the nozzle and give it to you like paul castellano
i’m greedy in life, willing to bite, phillies i like
yeah, i like guns, but only the israelian kind
aim for the sky, hold my pistol, aim to the side
i want a platinum desert with my name engraved on the side
i is the pope. b-tches keep their eyes on the rope
sixty inches long, so my p-n-s slide on the floor
ride with a wh-r-. all y’all n-gg-s die on the floor
i’m not a drycleaner but i keep an iron/eye on them all
swim with the sharks, get money or sleep in the park
the world is too big. if you don’t get money, you’re f-cked
n-gg-
[verse 3: meat pie]
you could catch me on [?] ave
with the baddest spanish mami just shaking her -ss
outside, hustling icebergs, smoking the gr-ss
watch fiends stumble up the block. we just kick ‘em and laugh
got soldiers in the wastelands, crystals on the smash
hundred-thousand-dollar cars, cold steel, and the stash
beef, you don’t want it. i’m old-school like mash
take about eight n-gg-s to pull my foot out your -ss
brooklyn be the borough, new york be the state
filled with grimy n-gg-s eating off the same plate
and me and my team came to do. you never seen before
hundreds of gorillas kicking down the doors
strapped with street sweepers, calicos, and .44s
backed by fans, groupies, pimps, and hoes
in the streets, they hold me down like the timbs on my feet
but i’m dirty, keep my hands like my b-lls and my meat
you heard me? new york
[verse 4: pumpkinhead]
i’m a underground vet. i get ‘nough respect
and i rep the home of the jets and the mets
yo, pet, don’t do something that you might regret
‘cause if you want drama, that’s what you gon’ get
and when you’re on the train, b-mping my c-ssette
you nod your head so hard, people think you got tourette’s
i’ll f-ck up your brain when i cross lanes like stephon for the nets
i’ll drop bombs, i’ll pop chrons
it’s cold weather, god. very cold weather, god
i’ll freeze my enemies zero degrees with their leathers on
causing frostbite, i sever arms. upper echelon
with the thoughts of a terrorist from lebanon
i’m paid, you played like a back from benetton
my weapon’s on. by the second song, your neck is gone
i’ma genghis khan this track, break his back
i’ma go plat ‘cause your moms sell my tape for crack
f-ck that. yo, yo, you know my style’s iller
yo, y-yo, yo, it skipped up
who next? bad seed, don’t trip up
[verse 5: the bad seed]
ayyo, please allow me to introduce myself
who the best, dog? got to tell the truth: myself
who the only cat i fear in the booth? myself
get money, get wealth for my health—who else?
it’s bad-to-the, bad seed-to-the
smoke weed ‘til i look like a chinese n-gg-
run with straight thugs and grimiest n-gg-s
got beef? clinton hill where you find me, n-gg-
come get it if you want it, dog. you know how to get it
catch a two-piece with biscuits right to your fitted
n-gg-s look at bad seed like, “d-mn, he shouldn’t”
mothers lose a son every time seed spit it
n-gg-s mad, want to be bad seed critics ‘cause they
know their baby momma probably let seed hit it
and, yup, seed did it and my man seed with it
any plan seed start, that’s a plan seed finish
n-gg-
[verse 6: icon]
ayyo, my flow is like cocaine. y’all n-gg-s is
so lame, y’all like kurt cobain—no brains
you need to b-tton it up, or, your grill, yo, i’m lumping it up
ok, uh huh, what’s up? shut up
i don’t play that. y’all n-gg-s need to save that
or i’ma put something hot where your face at
so when you look in the mirror, n-gg-, you could face that
you gonna see bullet holes all in your facemask
i’m on some friday the 13th sh-t—where the lake at?
i’ma strap a mazda 626 to your waistband
and watch you sink slow. my cuatro-cinco flow
spits a hundred and one rounds like dalmatians
and f-ck them cars you’ve got—i’m copping a sp-ceship
2001 sp-ce odyssey without the apes in it
we went from goodyears to michelins to pirellis
half of these n-gg-s big, half these n-gg-s machiavelli
half of these n-gg-s is menace, half of these n-gg-s belly
half of them keep their mouth closed, half of them telling
the f-ck you doing in rap? y’all n-gg-s need to be shooting
oops, my bad. they ain’t picked you out for the movie
you must not had the flow, the look, or the jewelry
you never had the dough, a ho, or a o-z, n-gg-
[verse 7: meat pie]
ayyo, my crew bang sh-t like bloods and crips
this the clique? you might end up in a ditch
with holes and sh-t, black eyes and fat lips
pardon me for my behavior—man, f-ck that sh-t
i’m living my life. every night, i’m f-cking my wife
i’m keeping it trife, dirty like used baby wipes
you think i ain’t nice? n-gg-, then you’re best to think twice
i’m holding my own. o.b.s. controlling the throne
you’re thinking you’re grown? one blast, n-gg-s is gone
out in the streets, n-gg-s be packing the heat
you’re thinking it’s sweet? you must not know the meat
the magnum p leave you with casualties
the tragedy is that you f-cked with we
o.b.s. who you thought it was supposed to be?
i’m locing, g. acting like i’m not supposed to be
come close, you’ll see how we blaze n-gg-s accurately
[verse 8: pumpkinhead]
i’m too nice. y’all n-gg-s can’t f-ck with me
the biggest thing to hit the city since kim fields’ t-tties
y’all not ready. i’m lined up. my cold flows
freezes frames and leave eyes stuck
you couldn’t beat me if i sucked. i’ll throw
wild pitches at emcees. oh, see? now your time’s up
blind f-ck tied up with no way to escape
i’m the rope, the gag, and the dynamite taped to your waist
you bite so much, in the winter, your mouth breeds
the shape of my face. nondescript rap condiment
get put on, but ate due to lack of confidence
i’ll see “the b-tch in yoo” but no common sense
your rhymes couldn’t be fat if you injected them with collagen
i’m hot like halogen. you blow like lots of wind
yo, y’all n-gg-s need to start following
yo, wack emcees i’m swallowing and gobbling
them n-gg-s ain’t got nothing for me. it’s gory
pumpkinhead flip freestyle—end of story
n-gg-s can’t f-ck with me when i’m in a zone
i’ll break your bones, leave you home alone
beat you in the head with my cellular phone
yo, i’ll come through always. yo, i’m long like
project hallways. freak it like foreplay all day
yo, check it out. freestyle my forte
yo, i’m so intelligent, my brain boxes itself
i shoot like a glock on your shelf that you got up
ayyo, i’m propped up. i’m out to mop up
leave emcees broke up. yo, i’ll choke up
all the dust in my lungs from the blunt that i brung
yo, check it. represent o.b.s
“for the kids” bad seed record. go get it
straight up, yo, emcees get ate up
[verse 9: the bad seed]
bad seed five-foot-nine, big c-ck
little dude with big plans and big glocks
don’t get it twisted ‘cause i love hip hop
i’ll run up in your crib, pop you, bl–dy your flip flops
now you was too hype—probably ‘cause you had belly on
but you don’t belong here like little elián
i got your moms hostage—leave your celly on
for ransom. she don’t want to leave—she think i’m handsome
i don’t blame her, though. my name say it all
i’m that n-gg- you all know with the dangerous flow
about the size of buckshot with the power of freddie foxxx
push weight and rock steady, move steady rocks
you like what i got on my neck? then come get it
push you back, hand on your face, mush you, black
in front of your priest and n-gg-s with kufi hats
my blockbusters you can’t get movies at
and everywhere i go, a n-gg- leave b–by traps
i’ll break you up like polo and kool g rap
this for my dogs and my b-tches with their doobies wrapped
keep it street like the ground where my shoes be at
ayyo, ayyo, ayyo, f-ck that sh-t
bad seed come through with the ruck rap sh-t
that click-clack sh-t. n-gg-s get flipped backwards
‘cause off the top of my ho, ayyo, i’ll bone broads on the mattress
you know my style be the fattest
flip the beat up, ayyo, ayyo, and speed it up
bad seed come through. ayyo, i’ll beat it up
like some coochie. come through, never rock [?]
but you might see me chilling with a chick with a doobie
wrapped up and flipped up, click-clacked up
i’ll come through. motherf-ckers be getting smackedup
tattoo on my neck, tattoo on my arm
ayyo, yo, flex drop bombs
on my record. if you don’t believe me, you could check it
b.d.s. coming through. you know how we do
my n-gg- j grand master plan
ayyo, ayyo, rubber band around my hand
uh, snap it back, flip you in your nose
you know how i come through: get in your mom’s pantyhose
uh, ayyo, i used to have a earring in my nose
but i took it. ayyo, go the brooklyn route
hop on the manhattan bridge. ayyo, this is “for the kids”
my style be mad ill whenever, when n-gg-s want skids
with the, with the lottos. ayyo, n-gg-s want to act ill?
ayyo, i’ll grab the motherf-cking bottle
and break it on a… uh. ayyo, it’s sped up again
bad seed come through. i’m getting fed up again
let’s go head up again. ayyo, he changed the beat
and i’ma p-ss the microphone because this sh-t for the streets
[verse 10: icon]
everything i’m spitting is raw
spit for the streets, spit for the morgues
spitting with heat, spitting with bars
if the f-cking cops arrest me, i’ll spit through the bars
my flow is f-cking nasa—i’m spitting from mars
spit for the cats, spit for the dogs
heaven or h-ll, satan or god. my soul’ll spit ‘til i’m gone
f-ck that. i’m setting it off, letting it off
the weapons i draw went in y’all oral, deading y’all all
arms, legs, eyeb-lls, heads on the floors
fingers, toes, earlobes, chest on the floors
and i’ma be the first n-gg- to make a song called “f-ck all y’all”
f-ck the cops and f-ck the law, f-ck the war
break into a f-cking wh-r-house and f-ck a wh-r-
jump off the b-tch, then flip and f-ck the floor
f-ck them broads, f-ck them raw, f-ck them all
middle fingers in the air, n-gg-. f-ck all y’all
‘cause them type of n-gg-s that be tempting me
to walk into your studio and empty three in your mpc
put you in er like nbc
bootleg your alb-m, sell that sh-t on mp3
and my bullets got tracking devices, so when they hit, they exit clean
part your back, cave your chest, and buckle your knees
see, y’all labels who want to sign me? give me a benz for free
f-ck them labels who didn’t sign me, f-ck mtv
‘cause, yo, my mouth is like a f-cking loaded shotgun
some n-gg-s bust, some n-gg-s won’t, but everybody got one
i’m gonna smoke you and your man and wait until the cops come
your top’s spun, n-gg-. we top gun, we gung-ho
i’ll let the guns blow when the funds low
with f-cking aks longer than mutombo
and this goes out to the best of y’all. we stretching y’all
middle fingers in the air, n-gg-. f-ck all y’all
‘cause when it comes to i’s sh-t, i spit that hot sh-t
i’ll verbally spit f-cking toxic comments
the only problem with that sh-t is that, with the force i’ma drop it
there ain’t gonna be a n-gg- alive on the planet to watch it
i’m from brooknam, stomp you out, bl–dy galoshes
to my fort greene ghetto grimies locked in the boxes
to my grimy, ghetto n-gg-s in fort greene projects
we from bk, motherf-ckers. it’s on—we’re popping
‘cause when i c-ck my heater, i’ll make motherf-ckers
hot like easter, stop they re-ups, block their beepers
that sh-t they kick’s softer than topless c-cups
i got high-cl-ss motherf-ckers dropping teacups
‘cause that sh-t that i spit is ill. i told y’all n-gg-s
word up, bk some sh-t you feel, n-gg-
[verse 11: meat pie]
hot style like kids from columbine
uncontrollable when it come to dollar signs
if you want it, sh-t, n-gg-, here’s mine
‘nough heat up in the closet that’ll melt your spine
and leak your mind. bright lights’ll leave you blind
buried in the dirt ‘til the end of time
the p ain’t lying. i spit sh-t to leave your fam crying
younger sibling mad as f-ck ‘cause their brother’s dying
do i give a f-ck? nope. the n-gg- asked for it
ain’t got no love for you like i said on brandon’s chorus
got n-gg-s that’ll ride and broads that die for us
hoes up on the track—what more you want from us?
beats and lyrics to dance and f-ck to
get high, get drunk—however you do you
i’ma lay it down worse than calm and simple
magnum p rather burst like whitehead pimples
and it don’t stop and we won’t quit
‘cause we from the borough that pops ‘nough sh-t
we come from bk, motherf-cker, all day
represent my block, bk all the way
clinton hill, fort greene, flatbush, bushwick
all the motherf-cking places. williamsburg
it’s still part of my rhyme. and n-gg-s heard
it’d be brooklyn everyday, all day
i don’t give a f-ck where you come from, say:
bk. eyes closed, snot-nosed with a red eye
keep my sh-t going on like a jet in the sky
but i’ma stop ‘cause i don’t freestyle
why not? ‘cause my n-gg- p do. my man, pumpkinhed
get on the mic with your eyes mad red
spit that sh-t outside with the feds outside
this n-gg-. the feds are outside
(oh sh-t. the feds is not outside)
yes, yes, they are n-gg-, and your eyes is red
(they ain’t gonna catch me)
they got you. they’re coming, they’re coming, they’re coming
[verse 12: pumpkinhead]
so what? my eyes was red. i was smoking a blunt
there’s feds outside. they try to give me what they want
maybe two to five for a bag that i had in my pants. d-mn, man
them n-gg-s trying to come real hard on me
‘cause they got castro in my d-mn country
what’s the deal? yo, we got m-ss appeal. we come through
yo, grabbing the steel. yo, i’m grabbing the wheel
making the turn, making it burn. yo, i’m like b-tter
making it churn. n-gg-s need to learn
that when i spit freestyle, i’m no joke
emcees get broke down like legos
l’eggo my eggo—that sh-t’s mine. the mic all the time
i shine, break down emcees like enzymes
yo, i intertwine like jungle vines. a perfectionist
i’m coming through, wrecking this. you disrespecting this
you catch a tec and clip to your neck and lips
i’m not playing. freestyle i’m displaying
pumpkinhead coming through. emcees decaying
underground. in the cemetery, yo, i’ll leave ‘em buried
freestyle, yo, i’ll never worry. i’ll come through in a flurry
like cold snow in the winter. ayyo
y’all n-gg-s is stuck up like splinters
i’m coming through and i’ll enter like wu
yo. yo, what you gonna do?
flip the beat on me. one to the two
yo, my name is pumpkinhead. i’m from the brooklyn zoo
emcees can’t handle me. yo, i’m like glue
yo, you bounce off you and stick to me
n-gg-s try to front on me, i’ll leave them on their knees
yo, they breeze like a leaf. ayyo, i’ll come through
you can’t conceive. i’m like a lyrical disease
ayyo, i’ll come through and i’ll please
all the shorties, yo, with the big booties
everything i’m rhyming ends with “-ies”/ease
get off these. n-gg-s, please. yo
i’ll come through. y’all n-gg-s is f-cking queers
yo, y’all can’t f-ck with me. i’m like cheers
a round of applause
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