lirik lagu brooklyn academy - russian rhoulette (radio)
brooklyn academy (ft. mr. metaphor, pumpkinhead, and block mccloud) ft. thirstin howl iii – “russian rhoulette”
[produced by will tell]
[intro: sample from the deer hunter (1978) and thirstin howl iii]
[sample from the deer hunter (1978)]
michael cimino: we do three, huh? one, two, three. three. three
[thirstin howl iii (overlapped with sample from the deer hunter (1978) and hook)]
i ain’t scared to play. let me see that. what you thought? you’re not playing this game right. look. you gotta spin it. spin it, just like that. spin the barrel. i’ma try it! spin the barrel! watch, i ain’t scared. spin the barrel! watch this, watch! (-gunshot-)
[hook: block mccloud and mr. metaphor] (x2)
you get one shot, once chance to bust. who bust first?
first to get slain playing russian roulette
[verse 1: thirstin howl iii]
poured blood, ignored love
even swore trust to the little devil in all us
the motor that keeps cheating wives, lawns cut
at a boiling temperature before i’m even warmed up
at the speed of thought, thug n-gg-s fighting for a needless cause
all you hear is, “john they’re stealing!”
when we in the stores, uncommon valor with the french
make players take the bench above the rim without touching the net
thirsty, greedy, sometimes desperate
when i lock rap down, i’ma b–by trap the exit
barricade the entrance
turn demonic screaming into harmless careless whispers
no challengers. winning the belt
if i say i’m top notch, i’ll be just limiting myself
emcees bore me like elevator music
street panhandlers with resalvaged sewage
all a&r’s named buford
if life’s a b-tch, i’m one of her two kids
a motherf-cker if the shoe fits
if rap was a school, i’d be teaching at yale’s inst-tution
brooklyn hard rock with a toothpick
threatening your life and safety with new risk
sk!llionaire. after i burn emcees
i’ll give ’em information on free clinic care
[hook: block mccloud and mr. metaphor] (x2)
you get one shot, once chance to bust. who bust first?
first to get slain playing russian roulette
[verse 2: mr. metaphor]
my lyrics sprout like a brussel, son. i get you open
like a clam or a mussel. i might jam my knuckle
breaking down walls like brickface & stucco
eat you like a thick steak, you f-cko
whip you with my belt buckle. you want to scuffle?
i’ll pull your cards while you shuffle. i’ll bag your b-tch like a duffle
and grill you like a waffle. you’ll fall/fal- like a -lafel
i’ll remove your tonsils. i’m housing kids like youth hostels
inhaling forest fires, blowing trees out my nostrils
digging underground and carving pipes out of fossils
i’ll wet you up like ponchos on a dark, stormy night
and spark forty mics. i’ll beat you up like forty dyk-s in brooklyn
you’ll get taken, tooken, for every nook and cranny
i’ll stick your daughter and the nanny, take your baby’s candy
grab the brandy out the cabinet, take any found inhabitant
and make his mind inadequate. i spit my lyrics accurate
immaculate. it’s hard to capture it
you don’t got half my wit. you better find an advocate
to plead your rapture
i’m leaving hands in the air. you leave in laughter
stuck in the intro. i’m on the final chapter
[hook: block mccloud and mr. metaphor] (x2)
you get one shot, once chance to bust. who bust first?
first to get slain playing russian roulette
[verse 3: pumpkinhead]
i play roulette with five bullets in the revolver
the problem solver, rhyme evolver, descendent of ghana
using the marijuana to blaze n-gg-s like lava
hot like sipping java in the sauna, i’m cold blooded like iguanas
my rhyme takes form
c-ck back the hammer on the biscuit, i make storms
the weather wizard who hopes to never visit
heaven’s limits. my arms cross in b-boy positioning
mix hydro with nitroglycerin. pose with the mic
in a tie, hold lyrics hard like pistol-whipping
i studied alchemy and mysticism
but still quick to cut you like crips in prison from a distant vision
i’m about to pull the trigger, got to make a quick decision
the sweat trickle clouded my wisdom. lost my religion
i guess that’s the cost of living in this world with no girl
no jewels or pearls. unfurl my new script
my thoughts are suicidal-sick. i pull the trigger. all i hear is a click
my thoughts are sick. i pull the trigger. all i hear is was a… (-gunshot-)
[verse 4: block mccloud]
then i rise and shine from lies that blinded mind’s eyes
and ties that bind to find your rhymes are dime-sized
compared to mine. you got no concepts
eating from my table of contents, take words out of my context
my language is, like arabic, too complex
got you mixed like marriages. my songs flex
from my la-ry-nx, plex you like a labyrinth
i’ll stab you with my dagger if you have a riff
the block hit toxic material that’s hazardous
you bring life like christ to nazareth, then lazarus
fabulous how i react with presents to rap gifts
in fact, it’s radioactive flows that hold you captive
trapped in zones, home is where this rapper roams
in catacombs, trapping poems that stay with you like chaperones
controller of the dark like napolean bonaparte
to get stoned, i spark bones and burn poems like joan of arc
[hook: block mccloud and mr. metaphor] (x4)
you get one shot, once chance to bust. who bust first?
first to get slain playing russian roulette
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