Arsonal vs. Tech 9 [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Tech 9]

Let’s cut this chit chat, cut off all this talkin’
It’s close to income tax, go ahead and get a car off from the auction
The chances of you beatin’ me is slimmer than that apartment!
You be at the back door the minute you walk in
But you a fraud! Type nigga front for the broads
You know I don’t fuck with you, but you be like “yo that’s my dawg!”
And she ask me and I be like, “bitch… nawwwl!”
And he dancing around like Chris Brown from Wall to Wall
Fuckin’ B-Boy, you don’t got no shame
And I can tell by ya dress you don’t got no game
You keep shaking with the gun, but you don’t got no aim
You ain’t heard? These bullets don’t got no name!
I make it rain on the block! I bring pain with the glock!
They say my face don’t look the same with the stock!
I get money, it don’t cost a thing to get pop!
Just add a lil bleach and get the stain with the mop!
You a down south rapper, all the dancing and the acting
With dumb ass hooks, “shorty got her booty clappin”
I told you before, save all the rappin!
RIP to Pimp C then I get to PIMP SMACKIN!
These niggas is outta control, who the fuck is coaching these hoes?
You only speak when you spoken to, these niggas is breaking code
I guess I gotta choke a nigga, twist his arms, break up his nose
Stomp his ass with dress shoes, Kenneth & Cole
You a business man, but a gangsta in disguise
You remind me of a lawyer, you pretty good with them lies
I’m on ya block nigga, you ain’t ever outside
If courage kept you alive, you woulda been died
But it’s not your fault, you ain’t ever had heart
Ya sister told me about them stories bout how you afraid of the dark
And I’ma fuck her, she said she like the way that I talk
And she got a fat ass, I love the way that she walk
I made her trip out OT, was still up PT
He said “Bring ‘em down, them crackas love that D3”
Why be Mike J when you can just be me?
You want a half a key, nigga I’m on key 3
The weed so green, so green, so kiwi
I talk shit about niggas, so what? They can’t beat me
I’m a boss with balls, them burners I need 3
I just bought a gun, I nicknamed her Fefe
It’s only a few of us left, but I’m still spittin’
Thirty 3 O’s, 3-3’s, I’m Scottie Pippen
The birds on the stove it’s nowhere near Thanksgiving
Mom’s in the kitchen screamin’ “Tech! What you cooking?
Shit! It smells like a pile of ‘woo!’ Don’t worry about it ma!
It’s just juice, I swear to god, these Jersey nigga in the booth?
Make you wanna smack Jersey niggas in the booth
Bag ‘em, then tag ‘em, tie ‘em to the back of the car, then drag ‘em!
It’s a shame, these fucking faggots I’m Saddam Hussein
Mixed with Bin Laden, I done had ‘em, shit is getting’ drastic
45 automatic made out of plastic! I’m getting more cake
I got that raw base, I send my nephew to the store to get more plates
Razor blades…. More plates! Razor blades…. More plates!
I turn the block into a mall place, I get ‘em 30 out the long face
Get em the fuck outta here!

[Round 1: Arsonal]

You a rat so I’m a death trap
You come across my path you’ll get yo neck snapped
Be dead where you rest at
You Philly niggas all the same, thick sunies, big mouth lil niggas
That Gillie nigga bout tall as Wayne
Cassidy’s a hustler now, right? Where’s all this ‘caine?
Any nigga that think Peedi Crakk hot, done lost his brain
E. Ness? He walked for some cake!
That faggot Reed Dollaz is a fraudulent fake
Joey Jihad scared of Lux and took four to the face
They like “what happened to Tech 9?” that bol was erased
Gone from his place, lost without a trace
You couldn’t find you with a satellite that crawled out of space
You rap down like a Nelly dancer, he cop now
Mook, by next week he’ll be a belly dancer
If I ain’t the best then who better?
Lux said it the best, if you knew better you’d do better
And I’ll spar against whoever, nigga I’m not gon lose cuz I’m too clever
I’m like As-salamu alaykum, I’ll annihilate him
Turn this nigga to a bitch, I’ll Sanaa Lath’ him
Spit in his face and let my saliva break him
Muslim nigga, you don’t eat pork? I’ll feed you hot salami bacon
And I could fight, you throw a jab and I’ma mangle you
You squarer than Spongebob so Ars’ gon’ rectangle you
Lame ass nigga, fake no name ass nigga, type to get a nose ring ass nigga
Never saw a brick or cocaine ass nigga
Instant messanger is the only time you AIM at niggas
Now you can’t wait until the day is over
You claim to run Philly, why you ain’t get a role in Paper Soldiers?
Or State Property? Ya whole state watching me
My mind still spinning, thoughts rotate properly
At his last battle, T-Rex trashed you!
Ars’ gon murder you so Mook won’t have to
And if I lose my troops gon blast you
Once you hit the ground nigga my boots gon smash you
And I ran thru Philly in a day and I found out a lot of you Philly niggas gay
Southwest Philly where you silly niggas stay
And if it’s war I’ma drive out to Philly with the ‘K
Like bang bang boogie, we gangbang pussy
You the type to stick ya chin in that same dame nookie
I’m insane with the thang so ya gang can’t push me
I’m a veteran, I think it’s time to bang bang rookies
And this real, this ain’t the liquor talk
So I’m a son you for a second and send ya ass to the liquor store
Ya career’s not getting far
Nigga ya career not going anywhere for awhile get you a Snickers bar
It cost to listen as I’m riff raffin, shit happens
Middle finger to you pussies or at you haters as I whip pass him
Six magnums, that’s 36 hits til you dead
Until ya head get swallowed like a big asprin
The rocks cold, yeah the wrist Aspen
So I’ll clap ya, I’m not a rapper, I’m a savage with a sick passion
I’ll slap ya, choke you out and have ya kids draggin’
Fuck faggots, me I puff magic like that big Dragon
Knock knock, let da rebel in
I knocked on heaven’s doors just to see if Jesus let the Devil in
You bet against me and you’ll never win
And I customized the wrist dumb bitch, I made the bezel spin
You gotta a problem, we could settle then
Cuz you defeating me will never happen like Bam Bam letting Pebbles win
And I don’t chat nigga, I heard talk was cheap
But if you talk, I do spark, and two talks it sparks the beef
I’m from Newark, this New York, Philly niggas, you soft
You pork, the only beef you had is what you bought to eat
Well quick jab will knock that sunie right off ya cheek
Ya reputation shattered and you scared to walk these streets


[Round 2: Tech 9]

I love this nigga… I love this nigga…
They got me battling Beenie Man, Da Girlz Dem Suga
If it’s war then it’s war, that’s the shit that I be on
And hang with all riders cuz they know that I be on
And when I’m on, I’m most likely to start drawing
Cuz a drunk soul speak a sober mind and you a pawn
Born as a bitch, born with a switch
He act like he wasn’t supposed to be born with a dick
You see him changing his clothes wearing thongs and shit
And this the nigga that’s supposed to be the leader of the clique?
THIS IS SOME BULLSHIT! The fuck you think I’m running from?!
This nigga breath smell like hard dick and bubble gum
And he wanna act tough claiming he troublesome
And I got the sharpshooter on the roof like “fuck it, just let him run”
See I don’t got no picks, this shit is nothing like goldfish
This shit is surgery, when the stomach is OP-EN!
I back down and I bring that mac round
And I shoot at close range you hear “ring!” from the background
I’m surprised you made it this far, my squad gutter
I got goons from South Philly to the boulevard
You a new school cat, a foo foo cat!
Wanna play pranks on niggas, a voodoo cat
I’m Barry Bonds but ain’t no steroids and a bat
Them hollow points feel like steroids and a mac!
I know everything about you, where you hide out
Where you work at, where you ride out
There’s somethings about homegirl you need to find out
When she’s not home, she’s at MY HOUSE!
Getting down, yeah light groovin’
I get my back rubbed… I get my body moving!
Pull that shotty quick… ain’t nobody moving!
I’ma win today… and somebody losing!
I need cake, nah cake don’t asap
That ain’t shit for me to push this nigga tape back
“Yeah I know Tech! We go waaay back!”
Too much dick eating, too much fake dap
I try to chill but they wanna bring the ape back
I got booked, first case I had to take that
That’s my weed and that’s my drugs, that’s my gun
And those are my gloves, but I was trippin’ officer
“That nigga really was,”
In the court room the judge quote: “ya out of luck”
I got bail money… “nahhh that’s not enough”
This nigga trippin’, snitching, he want me locked up
See he took the stand, yeah he took the stand
He was pointing like, “it was him, him, and that other man!”
I’m like, “chill the fuck out brother man!”
I forgot, this lil nigga Beenie Man!

[Round 2: Arsonal]

Before I end ya career I want you to listen hard
Get ya squad, have a meeting, tell ‘em
“ya’ll should stop rappin and go and get a job”
Cuz that southwest shit won’t go global
Beanie Sigel don’t like you nigga, Freeway don’t know you
Ya reputation don’t exist, you so local
I’ll tie this mail man to a fence and go postal
Nigga I do what I’m ‘pose to, when you was locked up
Niggas had you draggin’ balls (Dragonball) like Goku
No time for the small talk, we all spark
My homies smell blood and fire soon as the dogs bark
Ya lifes worth less than car parts
How y’all smart when you copped ya whole outfit from Walmart?
My gun holla, it’ll make son holla
Then I send his ass back to Philly with one dollar
I’ll beat ya wife up then spit on ya son father
And when I shoot I hit like the two guard at Gun zaga
I’ll headbutt you til ya skull crack, my lead touch you
Red rush thru them crevasses like a bald cap
This nigga lying on his ball sack, he probably fucked four bitches in his life
And they all fat! My goons with me and we all strapped
So how the fuck you gon smoke me, when you don’t even catch contacts
How you signed? Where ya contract?
I came to let it bang and leave this pussy endangered he’s a wombat
You rap right? So where ya songs at?
Come to Philly take a piss on ya porch & come and shit where ya lawn at
Ya jeans fake you shoulda pawned that
And ya bitch a jump, and since you over here
There’s probably 8 niggas on that
She bisexual, she ate bitches, all that
Banana clip push you ape niggas all back
Now he praying to god, thought he was atheist
Lux I’m killin’ this nigga, Freiz I hope you taping this
This is all off the top, I can’t believe this nigga came for this
Homo thug catching slow mo’ slugs, he’s in the Matrix
You a good life nigga, not a hood life nigga
Southwest where? You from southwest bubba fuck
You don’t know what the hood like nigga, so why you talk like a mobster?
You walk like a shotta, but you go to school for medicine
You trying to become a Doctor, now that don’t coincide
Truthfully I gave ya hoe a ride, and when I dropped her off
She was like “Ars, don’t you wanna go inside?”
And you know me, I’m thinking with my dick head, my dick said
“Hmmmm…” and decided to do what his bitch said
So we bust open ya front door, we “youuuu!” to ya big bed
She said “let me spit my gum out Arson, dispose of my big red”
Being the person I am, I let her swallow my dick
Then beat her pussy up, I went full throttle in chick
She cherished my semen, she wanted to bottle my shit
I told her leave it on ya pillow bitch, you’ll acknowledge my shit!


[Round 3: Tech 9]

I walk around starting trouble, I’m the king of the hustle
I blow air into a straw, I’m the king of the bubble
The last time I fought I dropped my thing when I rumbled
So I don’t fight no more, I just shoot before I rumble
Old head said, “be cool, be humble”
Say that shit out loud, you ain’t gotta mumble
I was by myself in the dark, in the tunnel
Nigga lying out here, too many Narcs in the jungle
I could tell a nigga real by the word exchanged
I got bricks for 17, shouldn’t be a word exchanged
It should be a “shhhh!” my word is the gain
Meet me in Harlem and we can talk about them thangs
I drive a black Crown straight move out joint
And ride with niggas that don’t talk they just move out and point
See you smoke too much dust, you schooled by the joint
Dickhead high, so he hitting kegs when he point
We call that off point, you need to be on
Shooting at lil kids? Nigga you drawing
I’m just trying to figure out which sentence you on
Is it a death wish or what the judge sentenced you on
Dumb fuck, ya brain ain’t breathing up there
Whatever’s the bet, just know that you leave it in here
Whatever you shoot, just know I’ma even the pair
Cuz I got guns like white boys when they squeezing for bears
My face is the mask, I rob a nigga and laugh
My favorite part is when they do the 100 yard dash
This K got a long reach, 100 yard grab
And it came with a scope, I could hit a 100 yard ass!
I got a AK flow, the 47 what I spit
A Desert Eagle shot, Mac 11 and a clip
It’s 7 niggas riding, 7 niggas hit
It’s one shooter but it’s gon look like several niggas hit ya whip
I told you I’m the shit once you entered the room
Ya face frowned up and lightened the fumes
Smokers on deck, I feed ‘em with the spoon
I’m the Lord Of The Rings I got Smeagle in the room
This rap shit weird, these rap niggas queers
Niggas think they hard cuz they rappin’ with the dreads
FYI I got real niggas with the dreads
When I say go, them niggas say, “WHERE?!”
Heavy artillery, no license for this head
If they catch me with this shit, I’m getting’ fried in the chair
Damn, got me trippin, vision get impaired
Roll his ass in a rug and kick his body down the stairs, dumb fuck!
You like my rhymes, look at him dick eating
I’m starting spitting, fall the fuck back before this shit be good riddance!
I don’t play fair, I don’t play fair
I grip little Arsonal out the fucking daycare
With that green shirt, talking bout how I went to Walmart
Nigga you stay there, you be cashier shopping like, “c’mon, over here!”
Lane 3 is open! Lane 3 is open!
We got deodorant, bath and body works and shit that you smokin’!
We got nicorettes, cigarettes, whatever you smokin’
And I’m like “I just battled that nigga in Harlem he gotta be jokin,”
He working for $7 a shift, nigga I make a model a brick
I send that bitch home you fuckin’ fall in love with the bitch
He be like “ahhhh! Man I really love them tits”
I be like, “look at this dick head he fuckin’ fell in love with the bitch”
You pull out $800 dollars, what the fuck is $800 dollars?
Why the fuck would I even bother?

[Round 3: Arsonal]

I will slap the shit out you with a closed fist
Blow piff in ya face then wash you shrivel up like some old shit
Now don’t spit unless spoken to, don’t rap unless told to do
Cuz I will stitch you up then reopen you
I’m a motherfuckin savage on this battle ground
Lux brought you here for me to chew you up
I spit you out then sat you down, he ain’t real, he on some fake shit
He ain’t tougher than a dyke
But claim he’ll beat the shit out of a straight bitch
Nigga just face it, you like sluts, ya wife ducks
And ya mom like ya life cuz ya life sucks!
You ain’t real and you don’t even slap box
You ask cops, me I keep to biscuits in the snack box
And I keep a Desert Eagle in the stash spot
It’s guaranteed to make a Tech fold like a laptop
And I’m quick to let my Semi pop plenty shots
I’m like a open soda bottle, I look at ya bitch and I tell her “gimme top”
She sell her pussy then she gimme guap
And blame the alcohol, she only had a bud light and one henny shot
Me I had some bud, right, and some remy, ock
Left hook to that right rib until yo kidney drop
In my state I set up plenty shop
Ya whole state Pennsylvania consist of all farmland and one city block
And that’s the highway to Lucifer, Satan or Damien
You in purgatory, there’s no saving him
I’ll wipe him off the face of the earth and there’s no trace of him
A pipe jump out the clip then it jerk and it’s Ghostfacing him
You a following nigga so go chase at ‘em
Four chased at ‘em, the order was go Swyaze him, GHOST!
Turn him into Casper, nigga, you lil muslim wanna be rapper nigga
I’m Mortal in Kombat, so when I wrap with niggas, turn into Scorpion
GET OVER HERE! I grab the nigga, Sub-zero deep freeze him
And smash the nigga
Fatality, FINISH HIM! Clap the nigga
I keep it Trilla like Bun B and since we all Street Fighters and you a bitch
I guess ya nickname’s Chun-Li
And I was taught my Raider how to sport my gators
Only crocodile you know is Dundee
And no, you can’t fuck with my crew
I stomp his face until his cheek skin stuck to my shoe
Hit you with a hot one, bol, cuz I’m a G-R-A-P-E S-T Mossberg shotgun bol
What the fuck is going on out here? Hold…
It’s about to be a tragic ending at this Lionz Den
I said “Lux, if I don’t win we robbing these niggas
Go ahead and drive ‘em in”
I’m from Jersey and… nah it ain’t safe there
Country ass niggas like you don’t stay there
We don’t cheat to win, but we don’t play fair
I’ll grab ya mom by her fake hair and use her mouth as my daycare
My palms ready, you can pay here
Ya life don’t exist, you fairytale like that red nose raindeer
You don’t want it with Ars’ you my son, I’m ya boss
Price on ya head, ya thoughts come with a cost
Pay me, I spit rabies, I chew beef when it drip gravy
You a flaw to this earth nigga you disgrace me
A jab will leave you leveled and flattened
Ya lyrics suck, “plus you have a terrible accent”
Two more ways to damage ya life
I can turn into Goodz or transform into ICE
Check me out, I’m Goodz, “I got a call from Lux, just yesterday
Bout this corny nigga I’ma have to rest away
Since I’m a Chef with the recipe’ a lot of niggas getting cooked tonight
Philly niggas especially”
I said “Yo! Now I’m back on my bully shit! Black gloves! Black mask!
Black hoodie! Bitch! You on some rookie shit!
I shove ya head in ya cereal bowl
And drown you in ya milk from ya Cookie Crisp!”
ARS! NIGGA!

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