Arsonal vs. Okwerdz [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Okwerdz]

See I may be the California cat
But I feel like I’m the one away from home this match
Cuz this faggot bitch has advantages he doesn’t even know he has
So when he says I’m a broke fag, in The Source mag
With a gold plaque, they’ll probably go and laugh
Cuz we got the best crowds on the west pal
Everyone here knows my past
But when I bring up how Chingy completely owned his ass
Or how he recycles loads of raps or that little gladiators choke he had
I guarantee that the crowd probably won’t react
Cuz no one on the Fresh Coast even fucking knows this fag
See we agreed on the round times, until this fags bitching
He called Lush back trippin
Tried double the damn limits and change the rules at the last minute
Like how they changed Hollow’s opponent fast switched it
So he wouldn’t have writtens
And that just goes to show that Fight Klub are some wack bitches
That do bad business
So GrindTime put the price line on Ars’s head
2 minute rounds ain’t impressive bitch you just put us all to bed
When all u spit is filler it ain’t really that hard to spread
And out of 2 minutes I only remembered about 2 bars you said
You rap bout clappin ya steel, I rap what I actually feel
You lost a battle to the fake tech n9ne and I did a track with the real
See I should fracture his grill send him back to that habitat where he chills
And tell Loaded Lux bring me another east coast faggot to kill
See I’m one of Grind Time’s best, I’m going on W-3
You do fake beef video blogs like its WWE
So after this he’ll be at the telly moping around the Hyatt
Doing a video blog about it crying
Shouting “THE CROWD WAS BIASED!
I WOULDA WON IT IF WASN’T FOR THOSE LOUSY WHITE KIDS!”

[Round 1: Arsonal]

You tell stories and you lie to people, I mean a lot of people
You’re not Solomon, you’re a wannabe Iron sequel
And when my iron heat you, it’ll turn Okwerdz to the real bitch he is
A white boy named Brian Peoples
Why you scream and you rap loud, you a fiend with a crack valve
With an oversized fuckin’ head, you can’t even pull his hat down
In high school you was a class clown, a shadow in the background
Who raps now and drink beers with his hash browns
I’m from the East and the West look up to us
We was in the telly last night with yo Cali bitch fuckin us
I told her I just wanna bust
Cuz Wesley Snipes proved that white men can’t jump
So you know you can’t fuck with us
Why’s that? Cuz we jump bitches off
I’m the truth in the booth and you fuck niggas false
I’ll knock a tooth out yo roof you’ll spit it out when you cough
Before this battle started niggas figured out that you lost
Your rhymes is chop suey, that’s shit on a stick
Ya girl’ll walk from Cali to Jersey to sit on my dick
And I don’t know if you got herpes, but it’s shit on ya lips
And if he was gay, Jada wouldn’t even give you a Kiss
I handcuff you to a banister and hit you with bricks
Push ya casket down the steps before they digged you a ditch
Yeah you unsigned, right? Source unsigned hype
A bitch with testosterone, a unsigned dyke
Lush I’m racin’ the clock, Lush it’s crunch time, right?
Got bout, what? 45 seconds left? I got a rush rhyme right?
Now it’s time to spit it rapidly, I’m a verbal catastrophe
Why the fuck did you battle me? Arsonal’s awkward actually
Okwerdz was often backwards he obviously had a tragedy
Mama was runnin’ back to me, probably cuz your daddy’s me
I’m ya father, I ain’t gone hide it from you neither
Back in the early 80’s ya mama had jungle fever
She was into black guys, hard gangster rap guys
Such as myself, that’s how I got on those fat thighs
Act wise, I don’t think you really want no altercation
I’ll have more niggas here than the Presidential Inauguration
Confrontation constantly causes concentration
You an unmoved bowel, you ain’t shit…you constipation

[Round 2: Okwerdz]

See I bring 7 rounds to every battle, hand crafted, savage
You spit the same verse every time I see you on cameras yappin
You’ll probably use the same shit against me
Cuz when this faggots rapping
He recycles more than fucking Captain Planet
See you’s a hybrid rapper these are the known facts
You’d think when it comes to battle verses he’d have an arsenal packed
But when you battle 2 people and use the same bars on both cats
Then what kinda muthafuckin Arsenal’s that?
You from New Jersey trying to gang bang? You make me sick
This is California faggot, home of the real Grape Street Crips
You more like a grape fruit, living a life that ain’t true
The east coast been stealing our slang
Now they want our gang names too?
Homie I should take you, down to Watts where the real Grapes ride
And have em stomp u the fuck out on the grapevine until it makes wine
Or maybe I’ll dump this punk in the trunk of his New Jersey ride
And drive it the fuck off of the route 35
And call that shit a New Jersey drive
You’ve got to be the biggest gangster to ever wear a muscle shirt
Why even take this battle? I should’ve put em in the jungle first
See either you on a quest to find the tightest shirt to recite a verse in
Or you just a Crooked I look-a-like, but the hyphy version

[Round 2: Arsonal]

I been hot since Osh Kosh Begosh and french toast overalls
I’ll detach ya spinal cord and rip ya shoulders off
YouTube the footage of ya bitch suckin dick with her tongue out
Until my semen start rollin off
She deepthroatin’ till her lips rip scrotums off
I finger all three of her holes, she a bowlin’ ball
Overall ya bitch’ll make a soldier stand at attention
And suck until my GI Joe is soft
I be goin’ off top and I write a lot
Now I hope God gave you nine lives so you could die a lot
I said cuz first you gon’ die from a spinal shot
Then I’ma run you over with a SRT8 till the tires pop
Liar stop with the fabrication, you a bastard fakin
Only thing you’ve mastered is masturbation
Why you rappers think you sick? I’m the vaccination
You the faggot chasin’ criminals who do tax evasion
You a security guard, cop, and a janitor
With a wire, and a camera, and you grew up, in Canada
You stepped up, so I’ma knock it down another one
I’m troublesome and I’m battlin’ the Crocodile Hunter’s son
They be like (ho-ho) “Crikey mate! I’ve traveled from a crazy state
To beat your ass until your ankles break
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers and you peeped Peter pissin
You a pervert pedophile and you resemble Peter Griffin”
You the family guy, you ain’t tough and you can’t be fly
You the same bitch who cried when you seen Bambi die
Now the bread I got from here I’ma throw it out and spend
That’s not hair, you got a Chia pet growin’ out ya chin
And I’m doubtin’ y’all, plus I had it out for y’all
You smell like a gym locker, onions and alcohol
You runnin’ ya mouth, I’ma have to cut ya fountain off
Start an avalanche and make a California mountain fall
Nigga you from Stockton? Well I’ma get ya town involved
Shootin from deep and I ain’t talkin’ bout if I bounce the ball
We got chicken shacks, you got waffle house
Ya mother deep throat it before they took her tonsils out

[Round 3: Okwerdz]

Now see you definitely gettin kicked off Loaded Lux entourage
Cuz you lost it dog
But that’s what happens when you send a worker to do the bosses job!
I knew you’d go for my race, but isn’t it getting sorta played
And I may not be street in any form or way
But even I can tell that you’re a fake
I’m from Stockton bitch, born and raised
America’s highest foreclosure rate
And the most murder in California state, just ask Forbes its great!
And you act like u from the toughest parts of dirty jersey & street smart
But you went to Kean University sweet heart
So that makes you more nerdy than we are
And it’s funny your whole battle scenes about being the streetest ’round
But when the heat come out you ain’t street in the least amount
Bitch you more like the scenic route
And I’d rather tell jokes and say suck my testicles
Then be at some one dimensional gun rhyme punchline festival
So what’s next? Pull out the imaginary Glocks and AKeezys?
Put me in a mothafuckin box and say easy?
And you guys act like Grindtime is so underneath ya
Been in 6 battles his whole life now he thinks he’s Julius fuckin Caesar
You wanna battle? You gotta give Loaded Lux a Visa
And put a hundred Gs up, what a bunch of divas!
And on the real I got respect for, Tech, Lux
Solomon, Mook and Math but the rest suck, I’ll fuck T-Rex up
And I’m willing to bet a, Ron Artest check stub
If you put your top 5 best up, against us, you’ll get crushed
And last Fight Klub y’all so on the dicks, of these westside vets
Even International P was tryin to dress like Plex!
And see to faggots like himm grind times just a buncha funny clowns
But ya need to be more humble pal
Cuz Fight Klub’s time is running out
So who’s the funny motherfucker now?!
You just wore out your California welcoming whore
So take your bitch ass self to Newark
And leave the Fight Klub belt at the door

[Round 3: Arsonal]

Look at me my nigga, I’m quite fresh
And I like sex, ya head’s bigger than homegirl ass here in this white dress
Now I could hit yo ass , jab you with a right, left
Or all-dooga-cut uppercut yo ass out them musty ass jordans
Or some Nike checks
He flew me all the way from Jersey, he said “you can’t sit home”
Cuz ya mother gives dome and loves to catch a lot of balls in her end zone
Her legs open and close that bitch a flip phone
Ya dad’s been gone, he was a fag with down syndrome
So what you want? You want ya legs broke or shot till ya head burst
Or you rather jump off of a buildin with ya head first
Cuz when you layin’ in that stretch hearse, the kids’ gon’ be like
“Mommy, Limp Bizkit died, he resembles Fred Durst”
Okwerdz, now you got a real nigga, I was a field nigga
Totin’ that Tommy without the Hilfiger
John McCain made it bad for ya whole race
Cuz now you a slave cuz a nigga run ya whole state
And I dare you say a nigga joke, Hulk Hogan rip ya shirt
My off the top is hotter than the shit you wrote
And ya siblin’ is a big mouth dick suckin’ whore
And I could probably fit my fist down ya sister’s throat
And it probably smell like fish and ya sister choke
She a trick and she suck dick just to sniff some coke
And for a brick of dope, she’ll let me tie a brick to her ankle
And tell her she the anchor to my fishing boat
I throw that bitch overboard in the water
This is not a battle by the bay, this is slaughter
I’ll steal yo bitch, after she give birth
My steel toe kicks’ll field goal kick ya daughter
Now let me tell a true story, bout ya girlfriend
She’s white with a flat ass, but she blow like a whirlwind
I checked in the same hotel that ya girl’s in
She knocked on my door so I had to let ya girl in
She said “Ars, I want my pussy ate and a thigh massage”
I said “alright you can get that, after you fuck my entourage”
Basically feedin’ her bullshit, all kinda lies
Then we whooped that trick like she was a slave on Amistad
So what I’m sayin’ is my large team cracked her
She a groupie, she’ll even let the ball team smash her
The moral of the story is, yo white bitch
Never got her pussy ate, niggas don’t eat saltine crackers
I’m a giant to this leprechaun
I start a riot if you step to mine, instead of bein’ quiet you was testifyin’
Yeah you Optimus Prime leader of the Decepticons
But I’m ya arch enemy, my nickname’s Megatron
You’ll be dead and gone, ya full name set in stone
Ya birthday followed by the day you was left alone
When ya casket drop, I’ma clear half ya block
A magnum shot’ll push yo spirit higher than an astronaut
And since yo chick love to grab for cock
We gon’ make a porno and watch it on a flat screen MagnaVox
I’m talkin’ 60 inch HD
Turn the volume to the max for the blind niggas who can’t see
You ain’t better than Jo-Jo, and played me
I’m talkin’ Reverend Run’s son, not the nigga with KC
And you fucks can’t blame me
I was a lion in the Lionz Den but Lux couldn’t tame me
I’m Goliath when I shoot the Glock
This little nigga must be David the way he be shootin’ rocks
I’ll shoot yo pops if I had to
Then blast two out the clip and then get the ox
You shouldn’t fuck with this repo man
Cuz I stay with the tools, I’m Home Depot fam
Watch out when my heat blow fam
Cuz I don’t miss when I shoot I’m Reggie Miller from free throw land
And I always pack some, so if you flashin, then I guess I Jack-son
Like you Tito, damn
And I stay with a grip of cream
Cuz I’m on the strip I’m pitchin’ to the fiends
Them bricks that’ll have you on the tip and leaned
I’m real quick to get the beam
I’m addicted to that 9 millimeter like my clip carry nicotine
One from the eighth long beam, to ya ankles and leave ya with Red Sox
Oh you don’t wear socks, but like the baseball team

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