Bender vs. Baracuda [Lyrics]

[Verse 1: Baracuda]
Who the fuck gave Bam Bam the mic?
See I don’t know what to call this guy, Brutus? Bubba? Uncle Buck? Or just another man who can’t write?
Yeah you’re looking at the white version of the black Frank White
I’m looking at a baby deer in the headlights
You couldn’t step in a yard, if you were holding a Red Stripe
Hey look everybody it’s Bender, from District I Can’t Get Laid looking for the red-light
You ain’t fit for this work, so why even try son
I’m ’bout to leave this kid feeling fired like a pile of retired guns
And you oughta give your body a break, before you malfunction
I’d a’ be taking notes from Joanne McLeod and Hal Johnson
I mean come on, really, this cat’s choking
He’s got a white Expos hat and he’s not exposing nothing
Listen here buddy, you’re the worst kind of custie
How the fuck do you do so much coke and still stay chubby?

[Verse 1: Bender]
Yo I’m tightly connected, with the most grimy collective
So when Loe matched this up, I was slightly offended
You might shine in this format, hell you might be respected
‘Cause writtens are like your faggot lifestyle, they’re both now widely accepted
Now I’ma drown a fish, I got people supporting me
‘Cause I speak with authority, he speaks with authorities
I should be under quarantine, how you beef with a war machine
That came to turn Montreal into the beaches at Normandy
I’m out for verde no spare change for you
You’re fair game to toss down the staircase, the truth
Is I air raid the booth, might bear mace your group
So for their sake just stare straight and fermez la bouche
Somebody grab the caretaker’s broom, vamoose
Now I ain’t saying he’s a gold-digger
But I seen his whole finger up his nostril, you fucking nose-picker
This Baracuda trick wouldn’t scare a tuna fish
Say hi to Lance, that’s his roommate that he shares a loofah with
Seeing this alopecia-spotted beater at the galleria, be what you wanna be for Halloween, a ballerina?
Rappers who ain’t paid dues I play you for chumps
Hold on, let me get a headshot for my wallet: I just made you my son

[Verse 2: Baracuda]
Now listen good, when I was on the bill, with De La Soul and Barcelona
You were at home, playing Mario Kart on your mom’s sofa
And when I opened for Kool Keith, here in Montreal
You were probably puking your brains out in some hipster bar bathroom stall
See I can’t figure why they put a sledgehammer versus a glass wall
I guess after all, the bigger they come, the harder they fall
Listen man, the tracks you make are soft
He’s in a group called Flight Distance and they still haven’t taken off
I mean to put it loosely
You’ve got the body of John Candy and the drug habits of Gary Busey
Came to battle the champ, ain’t even nobody with you
That’s why the only paper you’ll see out of this battle’ll be a handful of bloody tissues
Now when I put weight on a scale, get cut with a Ginsu
But when Bender stands on a scale he looks down and says ‘To be continued’

[Verse 2: Bender]
Yo you ain’t getting paid today, so call that verse a freestyle
You better off walking through Outremont with Doc Martens on shouting ‘Sieg Heil’
Meanwhile, I’m spearfishing in the water where you scuba
Baracuda, you shoulda took the day off, like Ferris Bueller
This Jungle rapper puts on a Jamaican accent like a Kingston Dread
Yeah he got fam in Kingston, his diddler uncle in the Kingston pen
Plague Language ain’t been shit since Kingston left
You didn’t think I’d bring that up now, sink or swim, think again
You rap good that’s a joke, look at this mope
Your group’s name is Bourgeois Cyborgs, hood pass revoked
You lil’ herb, your rhyming skill hurts
I do it for the love, he’s here for the Vagina-ville shirt
I don’t see one, please bud, go easy on the mean mug
This teacup used to get beat up by the glee club
If he’s thug, I’m a supervillain with my arms cocked
Spraying at your ride like a car wash
So till my heart stops, send the dorks, geeks and the hard rocks
‘Cause I put an end to more dreams than alarm clocks
Your boy says you could beat me, I’m sorry your boy lied
Baracuda’s real name’s Graham but he’s been stepped on to stretch out a point five

[Verse 3: Baracuda]
Now let me get something off my mind Bender
See my rhymes is better and it don’t take much to remember
So I guess you need a reminder that you’re a worse rapper than MindBender
No disrespect but respect me
This guy dropped outta the school of hard knocks
And even a hard knock couldn’t knock this big Chewbacca off my jock
He smokes hard rock and thinks it’s hard, it’s not
I mean come on here, you ain’t winning today
I’m the fucking king of the sea, running the shit choke in the third round you ain’t touching this I’m ripping ya’ head off
In the middle of a minute get a little bit of a rush
Touch this mic never, my paper staying in my wallet
And you just fell off the wall like a Berlin toxin
Crumb you ain’t chopping
Shit, so listen up, you ain’t got shit master
Pulling out tricks up ya’ sleeve
Better luck in a different battle, next time faggot
Fuck, can’t even do the voice, this shit fucking over
Yo, you and ya’ little four-leaf clover and ya’ fake-ass jolly little gold cuff
Looks like ya’ fake-ass Wallys need a new scuff

[Verse 3: Bender]
Yo this piss-warm chump ain’t worth the effort
Rap’s not in your blood, we can’t work together
It’s just shitstorm son, you get torn up
This poor fuck sniffs more drugs than German Shepherds
Yo stick to trawling for five-pieces giving handjobs
I was bumping your shit in high school, what’s Graham short for, grampa?
Laugh at your hustle, hear the fat bastard chuckle
I’m up for cheesecake, first I’ll make this Graham cracker crumble
No need for OT, call the match over
Just ran you down and trampled you, like the bulls of Pamplona
All jokes aside I’m cool with you and ya’ man Noah
But first and foremost I came to get revenge for Sam Osa
You know this, every six two’s a Ginsu, I’m focused
I, roll with a thick crew that rip through opponents
Yo, 6’2 he’s got a demo to give you it’s dope, just to skip through or tape over to mix tunes for road trips
Shit lately, I been ripping this shit insanely
Fuck the indo skunk ’cause I been so drunk that I get to’ up like Jim Lahey
I’m legit baby, get a mouth full of thick gravy
Then I’m out for your chips lady
Clear the bank like an Israeli bitch pay me

Follow us on Twitter @BattleLyrics

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s