Cortez vs. Hitman Holla [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Hitman Holla]

It’s kinda hard to spit water, but my verses fluid
I’m a beat Cortez but I’m mad, cuz I ain’t the first to do it
Had my own lane goin, why the fuck would you merge into it?
You got some wins, but we only remember them loses, Hitman Vs Ewing
Patrick that is, what’s a 50 cal to a slingshot? My whole team pop
You fly as bird ‘til we shoot you down like the restaurant
Ain’t no tellin’ where his Wings Stop
New York cats like “That country nigga mean, Ock!”
Between blocks, catch me where the thieves is at
I needs a stack, I’ll leave him flat, squeeze the mac
Fight you ya team, and whoever in the crowd that want it
I’m like Stephen Jack
He searchin for a lifeline, too bad I ain’t that Regis cat
New York wanna shut me down, y’all need more than that Revis cat
So don’t start, cuz for the dead prez, I’ll spark and leave this man dead
You just a Mexican that rep New York
But lose when it matter the most, you Mark…Sanchez
That bitch you never wit, you stressin on that female
Login on to her twitter page, checkin all her emails
Callin Math Hoffa like “Let me give you the details
She fuck wit Holla now, you know from the S-T-L
He rap and I rap but the difference is, he sell
She chose him over me and told me to Be Well” Fuckin Female!
Caught him outside, I told him “Bitch nigga Man up!” He was like “Man…”
I said, “Man what?!” He was like “Nah Holla I’m just sayin”
“You sayin what?” Remind you of moms comin’ from the grocery store
The way we put them cans up
I’m all for the static game, it’s a mathematic game
Grab the flame, I slide up on him like baggage claim
Fuck if you let us (lettuce) I’m starin at them carrot, aimin at his onion
Won’t stop til his cabbage hang
Tricks/Trix are for kids and this nigga playin rabbit games
But it’s not fun, on my son
Bugs Bunny couldn’t dodge the shit that’s comin out this shotgun
I’m a packed house room rocker, you a McDonalds broom mopper
GET THE DOOR! You a room watcher
I know you Brooklyn niggas hurt right now
but you gone stand right hurr and watch me chew him Hoffa
I fuck wit niggas on they last strike, you fuck wit mad dikes
Get outta line once, get blast twice
Go head swing, it’ll be a fast fight
Cuz I’m a duck and 1-2-3 him, I’m Trinidad nice
Aint ma fault, I’m a fuckin savage and I’m cut from another fabric
Once again this is not a classic, he 2 steps under good
26.6 is the only time you here a nigga say Hitman average
Ball Game!

[Round 1: Cortez]

Shoutout to E. Rilla, that’s my nigga!
He just came off from a minor bid
He was sitting in that cell listening to BIG
And can’t believe that he ain’t write his shit
I sent a kite, I’ll battle Hitman Holla
He said cuzzo that name sound like he quite the bitch
Fuck it, you’ll be left for dead for even thinking you have a right to live
That’s that real shit, you a gateway drug, I need that real piff
You a stepping stone cuz if I smoke him I’ll get higher
But you just a middle man, Smack introduce me to big buyers
Like Rex or Mook cuz if I battled them I swear I’d be coming off
But Smack gave me him, FUCK! DID I DO SOMETHING WRONG?!?!
I mean Smack you my nigga, I get the nine I’ll clap ya
But let’s revert back to my roots cuz I’m a GrindTime Rapper
I be rhyming all silly bro, mhmm, I be rhyming all my syllables
Uhuh, but I’m versatile with verses, I’m not X-Factor I learned the ropes
I will never choke to a rapping lizard with Urkel’s nose
Smack, pop shots, work the 4, everybody claps
The show’s done, curtain closed!
GrindTime! You wear lipstick with a perfect pose
Fist on his hip where he likes to switch when he works the poles
Move forward, huge shows and the worst is close
Watching YouTube, 2 dudes and you jerk ‘em both
Smack! Nigga you ain’t ever squirt the chrome pussy
You wouldn’t press pounds on a working phone
This nigga’s washed up, throw him in a nursing home
Stroller or a wheelchair, drooling on a nurses clothes
I just turned URL into a GrindTime circus show
Shoutout to GrindTime! In a minute that did enough for me
Y’all gave me 3 minutes, how the fuck you gon fuck with me?
Ya broad give brain but every day she look dumb to me
You thinking that we even, I’m show you I’m one up, see
His broad’s a jump, legs swinging off the chandelier
He got in Ohio, and she was fucking every Cavalier
Yeah… who is this nigga?
I was searching for days and met the nigga that did Ayeverb’s waves
And he gave me the scoop on this nigga
Introduced me to niggas, used to hoop with this nigga
Jarod Fulton, I know who went to school with this nigga
And Tony Yayo won’t want nothing to do with this nigga
Once I Fat Joe, Cam’Ron, and start Ja Ruling this nigga
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, I ain’t thru with this nigga
Bitch, you did a track with Murphy Lee, you ain’t cool with the nigga
He charged you for that verse bitch, who would’ve figured
Every time I YouTube and I Googled this nigga
All see is footage of Yung Ill doing this nigga

[Round 2: Hitman Holla]

They call Hitman when they want a nigga dead, just some shit Holla do
You got a lot of fuckin loses, I guess losing don’t bother you
I know he mad, the whole east coast know I’m bad, ya’ll saw the footage
I’m like a stripper, I came here to show my ass, pause
I aint worried bout that flow he has
I aint worried bout that dough he has
Cortez a candy rapper (wrapper) we all know he trash
I ain’t even wanna battle, I had plans to show his ass
That I’ll smoke his ass
Shake hands wit Con, Shake hands wit Da Don, get to him, choke his ass
Dandelion style, dig him, plant him, grow his ass
That X must be a Factor better run Miles, I’ll Calicoe his ass
Catch him at a show, pull up on some Honda shit
Bombs and shit, 9s and flips, with two llama clips
Hop on stage while he performing on some Lil Mama shit
You ain’t know I was this sick? You Mexican dip shit
Get ya pelvis broke trying to come at me on some hip shit
This matchup was silly, I’m spazzin on his nerdy ass
You never saw a murda, never did a murder, why he reppin Murda ave?
Leave him at a fountain, at a park, take a birdie bath
And I heard he ass, Question: Who believe in all this crime shit?
Food for thought, we don’t feed into that non sense
They call me Hitman, read between the fine prints
This weapon not on safety, it aint John Lynch
Night vision came with a scope, see behind tents
Michael Jackson Motown Glove, you can’t find prints (Prince)
When they say the best they say Holla, Sign Stitched
I won’t lose, you wouldn’t beat me with a time glitch
My rhymes sick, you ain’t achieving that
You don’t see Gorilla and Bamboo where the Cheetahs at
You don’t see the Tigers and Lions out where the Zebras at
You just see Gazelles by the Deers, leave it that
Or leave it rap, for he fuck around and won’t leave attached
Head there, neck there, shoulders there, knees back
After this battle, who’s checkin for where he’s at?
Soon as I landed New York City was yellin “He’s back!”
I’m at the veteran’s home, you know ya great granny Mable
I caught her in the kitchen, give a fuck if she disabled
You da thought she was a tip the way I left her on the table
Nurse came in, I’m like “Why you tryna save her?
She 96 and a half, I’m doin the favor”
Keepin her alive, ya’ll spending too much paper
Let me finish her and y’all can thank me later
Holla you want, Holla you got, ya wish was granted, I’m the best damnit
Fuck planet to planet, you wouldn’t win this battle in Spanish
Portalito De Ball, translation: BALL GAME!

[Round 2: Cortez]

It’s gon be a long day, you played the wrong game, today
Ya screaming out “Ball Game!” well bitch, I’m the rain delay
And since you ball I gotta bar that’ll make ya day
Watch this Mysonne, when I SHOOT! You’ll fade away
Matter fact it’s not Hoops when you breakaway
Let’s go behind ya back, tell ya coach change ya play
I knew he would inquire about my losses, but Holla you don’t know me
To be great you must grow, see I’m similar to Kobe
He only averaged 7 his first season, we all saw the potential
He wasn’t quite there yet, but we saw something special
So like Kobe I studied the game tapes, now I’m the man to beat
You disagree? I treat you like Shaq and put this man in Heat
But come to think of it, you’re nothing like Shaq to me
More like Pat to me, yeah you’re in the game
But you’re standing on Patrick’s knees
BANG! BANG! Let’s see if you can stand defeat/the feet
Curse out the god, these niggas will blast for me (Blasphemy)
And hit everything from ya stomach and ya back behind it
I’ll leave you crooked with a bullet in ya back alignment
You lose ya mind? I bet you this Mac will find it
Clear out thoughts and leave Hitman absent minded
So once I align with them lasers, this bitch will get the singin’
Usher ain’t the only nigga signing them Papers
Yeah, I’ma have to (?) with the cook up
Master P with the hook up
Catholic Priest was screaming out “blasphemy!” when he look up
They’ll be laughing but this ass whooping is actually for the lookers
You ain’t, half of me, ya after me, you the wackest we even hooked up
And you bitchin to who?
I mean Dolarz left you broke, I bet you couldn’t get Rich in the Lou
So once I get to bitch smackin’ (?)
Y’all will get a whole clip early, matinee
Dagger to his scalp, peel back half his brain
Iverson with this bomb, ain’t no chance I’ll pass away
I got this anger in the pit of my chest
And since the Midwest sleepin’ I’ma put it to rest
Lux beat Miles, Hollow destroyed Big T
I’ll man handle Holla, Verb’s about to be mince meat
So what the fuck is a Midwest movement
When New York’s done trampled thru the Midwest union?
Motherfuck a Calicoe, we keep big Mac’s shootin’
Click clack, the kick back give my wrist bad bruises
BANG! BANG! BANG! All up in ya spinal cord
Run up on him hooded, throw a bullet in that smile of yours
If you pass these two semi’s I’ll embrace it with this final 4
Caught him like the net, now ya dead, it’s ya final loss
HK get to tumbling, HK aim straight, tops get to hoverin’
CSI, black bags, box get the covering
Nah, that’s not enough for him
Sneak in the morgue, drag him out the freezer
Ice pick his belly til I’m stabbing every feature
Stick a time bomb by his bladder where his spleen his
Then I (wig?) the back up (?) scooper
Detonate the bomb on site at ya funeral!

[Round 3: Hitman Holla]

Cortez rep Myrtle Ave, but they call it Murda Ave
First thing you think of when you hear Murda Ave
Is dirty grass, 30 mags, shotty pumps, body slumps, shade and crumbs
Niggas walkin round with hangin’ guns
but my up north connect told me Murda Ave
Aint seen a actual murder since 81’ and you ain’t even from there
You from a hood called Utica
Wherever the hell that is, but it sounds real beautiful
Fuckin moron, chill for they find you where the shore rise
Cause where I’m from
You couldn’t walk they streets of my city during a tour guide
I got an infection flow, I’m the next to blow
You never stood a chance my nigga, ya whole section know
It’s time for a change and Holla got an election flow
You ain’t a New York Giant but actin’ stupid like Plaxico
Talkin birdies (Burress) til I wave the eagle and leave a Hole-in-One
And forensics will really find Cortez in the Golf/Gulf of Mexico
I’m in his hood cartin’ em down, I ride on Texas slow
Like, “What up Pa! Nice necklace yo!”
You rap like you tryna get info outta me, you got a detective flow
Me, I keep the metal and chrome
Better warn ya fam cuz I’ll pop up at ya relative home
I’m at his granny house like Knock-Knock!
She look out like “Oh no nigga, I know who you is
Cortez don’t live her and I don’t watch none of his kids”
Fa sho, I go down the block to his auntie house like Knock-Knock!
She say, “Who is it?”
I say “Hitman!” she look out, start waving, crack the door, I BLOAW!
Made my way in, she said “Ah Holla don’t cut me!”
Ain’t nobody fina slice you, bitch we brought them K’s in
Where’s Cortez? I stared her in the face then
Picked up the K then, grabbed her by her braids then
Made the hoe tell (Hotel) like she work at the Days Inn
Then I heard a “WAHN!” Her son was in the playpen, I was like “for real?”
Shit was so amazin, having flashbacks it put me in a rage when
Picked him up upside down by his J’s then
Took him out back, I thought about his age when
I tossed him in the kennel with a pit, left him caged in
Let the dog rip thru his tissue, paper Mache then
Then I put the….you know what, enough with all this cold shit
Cause on the real, you ain’t worth none of y old shit
They took me to Brooklyn and you don’t control shit
You freezin cold, I’m hotter than what ya stove get
When he rap, you see clear skies, great courage, great marriage
When I rap, you hear 40 cals, 45’s, shotty blasts
I would say ball game, but I’ma end this another way
Just so the the niggas thas watching ain’t gotta ask
What was the outcome of this battle? Body Bag!
Ball Game!

[Round 3: Cortez]

He came with Spanish jokes, but if y’all don’t know
That old gangsta shit’s inspired by Tony and Monolo
You see I promised Murda Mook I would murder you
First 2 rounds I switched it up, you know, showed that I’m versatile
Spit a little bars, showed y’all that I’m lyrical and worth it too
But this time, round 3, let’s get personal
I saw you at Fight Klub, we all seen him took an L
You got fed a remedy (RemyD) for thinking you was sick as hell
But ya bars, they weren’t sick as hell, you was lookin sick as hell
He had his shirt off with his big beads
Ribs touching you’re a pimp squeak
Don’t that make sense? Cuz he never looked good with a Big T
But fuck that nigga cuz after this cock back and get the ratchet
When I’m done with him, Smack, get his contact, I’ll get him after
Drop back, get him smacked
Then drive pass sit in (?) spit it backwards
Then I get a long bat to get him batted
When I’m done y’all gon think a car crash hit him after
Or a bomb shriveled his ass up or that Tarzan picked him back up
Swung him off a long bridge to the wrong path
Where a strong Ram ripped his back up
UGLY! What labels wanna market ya face?
Making a million moves but but getting no whurr
Ya carrur is Target in place
I mean what is he? A mixed breed of Chris Reeves if he turned black
With a twist weave and a turnt cap
Yelling Big B’s, Big B’s, oh it’s them bloods you reppin’
You Manny Pacquio, nigga ya blood’s in question
Since you the Hitman, bitch I got one suggestion
BANG! When I shoot ya soul going in one direction
I roll with real su woops nigga, we be goons
He ain’t homie, but tonight it’s like we see (C) food
So if I get the banger, cock the 9 back, pop his spine
How you gon stop this 5, chill, chill, stop it 5
I’ll kill him! Dead him with a toe tag
And I’m real disrespectful, I’ll smack you with ya own flag
I bet he cease up once I buck two rounds
Let’s switch sets on him, bitch what you wanna do now?
Cuz the nigga’s that I know that throw up them sets died for they colors
You pussy! My nigga you wouldn’t die for ya mother!
You wouldn’t rob for ya brother, if you do, get the fif right now
Them niggas kilt yo cousin, you sit right down, we just look at him

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