Blaze Battle ft. Pumpkinhead and Breez Evahflowin’ - “Pumpkinhead vs. Breez Evahflowin’ Blaze Battle (1998)”
[Emcee(s): Pumpkinhead and Breez Evahflowin’]
[Producer(s) of Instrumental 1: [?]]
[Producer(s) of Instrumental 2: D.R. Period (Original Instrumental from Smoothe Da Hustler ft. Trigger Tha Gambler - “Broken Language”)]
[Producer(s) of Instrumental 3: Nashiem Myrick and Puff Daddy (Original Instrumental from The Notorious B.I.G. - “Who Shot Ya?”)]

[Intro: Stage Announcer and Pumpkinhead]
Stage Announcer: Here we go, y’all. One minute. Pumpkinhead, you’re on
Pumpkinhead: Yo, yo, yo, check it out, yo, yo

[Verse 1: Pumpkinhead]
I skeme from New York to the land beyond
I skeme Girl Scouts 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
My shit’s tight like a dyke 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, retarded
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 compass, sheisty like Congress, yo
[Interlude 1: Stage Announcer and Breez Evahflowin’]
Stage Announcer: Here we go. Breez Evahflowin’. Put it on for one minute
Breez Evahflowin’: Check it out, yo

[Verse 2: Breez Evahflowin’]
Now I’ma say these rhymes so you could think career choices
‘Cause after this battle, you’ll fucking talk to birds and hear voices
Weird noises, flashbacks, cold sweats
Breez be Evahflowin’ with them same old threats? Don’t get
Me vexed, son. Cut through our forest? I ate your bread buns
Breez Evahflowin’, I kept it going like some redrum
Though heads run, it’s strange when I hear my name
Like when we battled on the train, I took a cup of spare change
And used that shit to call your bitch and told her, “Guess what?” She said
“Say word, you said what? Come over here and get butt”
Chill [?] straight booty
[?]
Scramble this. Fuck you, I’ll battle LL and Canibus
And give you twenty years so you can learn how to handle this
You rap amateur. Bite me, damage your psyche
Fuck Mike. You want to be like me—what ‘bout my Nikes?
And running to your boys so that you can say you know me
Blow me. Bye, bye, [?], you never gon’ see
Fuck around

[Interlude 2: Stage Announcer and Pumpkinhead]
Stage Announcer: Alright, y’all. [?] bring it back. Pumpkinhead, one minute. It’s on, baby. It’s on. Last round, baby
Pumpkinhead: Check it out, yo, check it out, check it out, yo, check it, yo, yo
[Verse 3: Pumpkinhead]
I’ll peel your cap like a mandarin, handling
Grammar and flows like mandolins held by John Paul
I’ll bomb shows with calm flows, ride like Tonto
In Lone Ranger. Get out my zone, stranger, before I
Neckbone-hang ya with cowhide ropes
From aldehyde salt, burning the flesh off your throat
Indian verse cause smoke [?]
I know n***as who smoke weed and sell coke and still broke
Old-school thoughts who still tote, heads would ice-
-grill a pope, ex-girls [?]
I’ve seen the other side of the game, but didn’t play
Instead, the rhythm I slay [?] spit and spray
And in a given day, I don’t worry about competition
When I stomp my competition, you’ll get burned from pissing friction
Your composition got [?]
Leaving you fucked like cops in prison. My rhymes
Giving you life like obstetrician, shitting on n***as like
Flocks of pigeon and make fun of you like atheists will mock religion

[Interlude 3: Stage Announcer and Breez Evahflowin’]
Stage Announcer: The final round, here we go. Breez. Aight, here we go. One minute, Breez Evahflowin’. Bring it, baby
Breez Evahflowin’: Yo. [?] check it

[Verse 4: Breez Evahflowin’]
Battling in a footrace against the railroad
I’ll stick my fist up in your face until you taste my fucking elbow
N***a, you suck, so chomp my dick and pay attention
I’ll rock dimensions, not to mention my connection
To my name: Breez, I’ll Flow, man, just like
The wingspan of Rodan, King Conan
Oh damn [?], wack motherfucker, check it
Hit you in the head so hard, it make you drop a double record
Listen, man. You’re like a desert to a fisherman
Uninviting, unproviding, unexciting, and got
The nerve to be biting. Please stop, faker
Tell it to your face and watch your chicken catch the vapors
The block eraser. Now you were telling me what?
As for your girl, she was ill, yo. She fell on me nuts
Haha, so what’s the point in confrontation? I’ll make
This kid sleep away like Camp Concentration
Fuck around like you, I’ll shit you out like constipation
You’re constantly on my mind like imagination. Fuck around
Your flow’s detestable. Pumpkinhead [?]
[?] fucking vegetable [?]
[Interlude 4: Stage Announcer and Pumpkinhead]
Stage Announcer: How many of y’all want to see one more round? (Yeah!) Aight. Pumpkinhead. You got one more minute, my brother. And hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, before you throw it on, I gotta have respect for y’all: do y’all mind one more round? True champions [?], a round of applause, y’all. True champions, so no matter which way it goes, it’s all real. Pumpkinhead, step up, my brother. One more minute
Pumpkinhead: Yo, check it out, yo

[Verse 5: Pumpkinhead]
When I disperse, watch my verse [?]
I’d show love to you rappers, but some of you might be gay
Subscribed to Playgirl, at the gay parade, rocking
Raspberry berets [?] with more
Perverted thoughts than the parents of Jon Benet Ramsey
I can’t stand the hair-braided, brandy lookalikes
Sweet-like-candy hooking the mics, screaming like banshees
I could be home, watching prerecorded tapes of the Grammy’s
But, instead, I’m battling you. That’s all fine and dandy
So I grab the mic with my phalanges, strike you
[?] Street Fighting, I’ll spin-kick you like [?]
[?] come on
Breez, you don’t want to contest. My context
Is so complex, your brain’ll hold [?] to your conscious
[?]
Pumpkinhead, I’m so bad, I’ma burn like raw sex
[?] streets [?] like lost pets
[?]
Groove to the bassline and get on my Jordon program with twelve steps
[?]
[?] you beating me is like
Gary Busey wearing a helmet, hellbent
Doing a hundred [?], I said

[Interlude 5: Stage Announcer and Breez Evahflowin’]
Stage Announcer: Pumpkinhead, y’all. One more minute. Breez, you got one minute. Put it down, baby. Breez
Breez Evahflowin’: Check it, check it, check it. No doubt

[Verse 6: Breez Evahflowin’]
From the prize, I’ll put up two G’s and see which em-
-cees could do Breez. Yo, fuck that. No “Killing Me
Softly” like The Fugees. Bitch, you think something’s sweet
But I don’t sing blue cheese. I’ll hold the mic, don’t give it back
Just like saluchi. N***a, you pussy
It’s only right I’ll pop that coochie. The only way you’ll win
Is if you get your crew to shoot me [?]
[?] Jason movie. I’m smoothed out like Fred, Velma
Daphne, Shag, and Scooby. [?]
You ain’t as good me, and your stereo’s like, “Thanks
That’s the best shit you ever put in me.” [?]
[?]
[?]
[?] once again? Think about it
‘Cause you beating me? That’s some shit—I really doubt it. What is this?
[?] ‘cause you don’t want war
Your shit’s so weak, you make Puffy look hardcore