Dirty - Will Tell

Mr. Metaphor: What up, Block?

Block McCloud: What up, what up?

Mr. Metaphor: There’s some sheisty cats out there. Word up

Block McCloud: Yeah, they’re definitely out there, son

Mr. Metaphor: Dirty motherfuckers

Block McCloud: Rolling ‘round in the dirt like snakes

Mr. Metaphor: You know what I’m saying? And then, and then you roll around with

them, you get dirty

Block McCloud: You get dirty. But shit rubs off, you know what I’m saying?

Mr. Metaphor: Word

Block McCloud: Niggas don’t know how to act. Know what I mean? They want to do

the dirt

Mr. Metaphor: Yo, yo tell ‘em how it is. Word up. Yo, yo

Block McCloud:. God damn with how it is. God damn

I knew this ho named «Jubilee» who showed and proved that she

Could take on two or three

It could be you and me, Moe. She’s doing free, yo

We could all run train—she wouldn’t complain

It’s all fun and games to her, the ho who like to be cunt-strangled

Hon trained. She liked to be banged rough in handcuffs

She’ll hang tough. Trick can’t get enough dick—she lovesick

For this roughneck, Pimp Jon two times—Don Jon Jon

Got a whole slew of concubines. Get your shoe shined

On the ferry every day, he wants to rhyme

And battling us been on his mind for the longest time

But I’m stomping on his strongest line

He’s bordering on Cornish hen. We warned

when the tournament begin. We win

He get his neck wrung, get hung like ornaments. He banned

Led astray to think he’d get away from Block and Metaphor

Headed your way. No portrayals

For a rail, he’s dead as doornails

I met a man with a broken tooth by a token booth

Who only spoke the truth. He put me on to this local youth

And rehab for coke abuse. He had a rope or noose

Hanging off his roof for me. I pulled the wisdom from my tooth

I needed proof, proceeded to meet the youth by his ground

Son got tossed around like dirty clothes in the lost-and-found

I forced him down, hit him with a palm

Left him shook like a pompom

Smoking on the traum, ton with one arm

Tried to be my pawn. Seen this kid Jon

Scheming on my cheese parmesan

The alarm is on—Jon was a dishonest man

Over there by the garbage can. The cat with the farmer’s tan

He gonna fake a move and get sent to the promised land

I ran/Iran like contraband, stomped a man, tied his arms and hands

Left him blindfolded, split a dutch and smoked it, ashed it

Laughed at Jon, took his mic check and cashed it

I stand sturdy. My mind stay alert

If you play with dirt, you get dirt

This pal of mine from Palestine

Put me on like calamine about this snake cat named «Valentine»

I charged up like an alkaline battery

Called up The Academy, rounded up my cavalry

Let the battle begin—no time to waste

Lead in a vase. Blood is cased to redden her face

He fled the place. Son caught lead in his waist, blood

Shed in his trace. Dead in a case

Wendell, my man from Puerto Rico, told my people

«Some heads are scheming on my home like repo»

This cat rich, the cheapo cheapskate that my peeps hate

Always puffing L’s, drinking booze, and can’t keep straight

He gonna deflate. He gonna fall into a deep state of shock

I’ma strike him like a clock at 12-noon

The William Tell tomb production, Brooklyn Ac' abduction

Taking you out like liposuction

I knew this sheisty dude Lancelot who ran a spot

Down the block. By the abandoned lot, my man Scott was shotten

Now Lancelot tried to gas me every chance he got

He got plans, he plotting. Hands is hot and

Clearly tried to sham me. Sold me a hand-me-down three pound

He bounced and can’t be found, tried to leave town

Thought I, but I caught him on a rebound. Now he’s renowned

I squeezed three rounds in the hurt

Now he’s deep down in dirt

I stand sturdy. My mind stay alert

If you play with dirt, you get dirt

Mr. Metaphor: You get dirt

Block McCloud: Dirty

Mr. Metaphor: Filthy

Block McCloud: Dirty and guilty.. Block McCloud, Word A' Mouth

Mr. Metaphor: Word A' Mouth

Block McCloud: Move universe

Mr. Metaphor: Ah. Headed in your direction

Block McCloud: In your direction