lirik lagu skeme team - con artists (dirty)
skeme team ft. brooklyn academy (ft. pumpkinhead, block mccloud, and mr. metaphor) – “con artists”
[emcee(s): pumpkinhead, block mccloud, and mr. metaphor]
[producer(s): block mccloud and venom]
[sample (melody): jerry goldsmith – “main t-tle (theme from basic instinct)”]
[intro: mr. metaphor]
thinking of a master plan, skeme team
let the track expand and attack the land
don’t ever turn your back on those cats who scam
don’t ever put your guard down and smack my hand
[verse 1: pumpkinhead]
i skeme from new york to the land beyond
i skeme girl scouts (gimme that) for their candy bars
i could skeme a man in the desert for his last bottle of evian
i’ll burn champions like tiger balm
i could pick your pocket with the steadiness of pilot’s arms
wiling on suckers who think i’m mild and calm
i’m like a silent alarm, the type to frighten your moms
lighting the traum, biting my rhyme is like biting a bomb
plus it’s tight like a dyk- in a thong
i could even skeme a priest into liking this song. i’m like
a thief in the night—i strike and i’m gone. release
on the mic that’s tight in my palm, writing these songs
the con artist bombarding areas uncharted
pick out one target, leave him in his undergarments
trooping through brooklyn, stupid, dumb, r-t-rded
blooming like a summer garden. you never see me like
a bum in carbons. to spit what i spit, you need
a tongue enlargement. i’m coming charging, gunning like a hundred sergeants
skeme team renaissance this verbal calmness
on point like a comp-ss, sheisty like congress
[hook: block mccloud] (x2)
skeme team—even when you know us, you don’t really know us
you shouldn’t trust us as far as you could throw us
always up to something, so we’ll see the top the fastest
don’t put it past us. skeme team rock the m-sses
[verse 2: block mccloud]
we skeme
to leave a lasting impression, attack as an act of aggression
hack you to sections with a rusty blade so you can catch an infection
this track’s a reflection of acts that had me back in detention
reflected off cracked gl-ss are my backstabbing intentions
i’m that rap b-st-rd that slap masking tape on fat, hairy–ssed kids
you’re asking for trouble, hardrocks get blasted to rubble
like emb-ssies in africa that’ll laugh at ya and laugh at ya
half of you don’t even know that half of ya know the half—i baffle ya
i’m over your head, i hover up other craftier breed
your wife’s in my bed, on my level, while you’re looking after my seed
i went from last to the lead. when i slash you, you’ll bleed like hemo-
-philiacs. i’m from puerto rico—me no feeling that
so zip it while i spit flows, burn you like a zippo
put you in a trance like a hypnotist, split domes like a schitzo
tiptoe through your tulips with two clips filled with bullets
and steal your pulitzer, bust you if i’m feeling stupider
and i’m trooping to brooklyn, got you looking up at jupiter when i’m scooping your
leather wallet to fill my head with knowledge on where you kept your dollars
[bridge: mr. metaphor]
thinking of a master plan, skeme team
thinking of a master plan, skeme team
[hook: block mccloud] (x2)
skeme team—even when you know us, you don’t really know us
you shouldn’t trust us as far as you could throw us
always up to something, so we’ll see the top the fastest
don’t put it past us. skeme team rock the m-sses
[verse 3: mr. metaphor]
dispersing verbal chrome in your local nursing home
this verse is the perversest known to walk the earth’s surface alone
without a purpose, get your circuits blown. i’ll fill
your palm with silicone and leave you cancer-pr-ne
i’m holding france in rome. with these hands alone, i’m turning sands
to stone (stone). i’m stuck on girls like lancôme
i’ll crush your collarbone into little cobble stones, my raps
leave you broke like a thousand collage loans
i’ll stomp your childish poems, so my style is grown
i’m a mansion, you a mobile home, a dog without a bone
without a yard to roam. i’ll rip apart your poem. i’m the sharpest
rap artist known, running your lethargic tones. stepping in
my target zone, you bothered, you get thrown. i’ll break you down
like syndrome and nail you like an ingrown. i’m out this
ozone, flying on a sno cone, smoking homegrown
blazing in an outer sp-ce no-smoke zone
“word a’ mouth, skeme team”—it’s engraved in a milestone
grab your cell phone—we’re off the hook—hear the dial tone
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