X-Factor vs. Tsu Surf [Lyrics]

[Round 1: X-Factor]

Ya swags off fag sauce
Won what? You a drag boss, a crab that probably like his sa-lad tossed
Ya bitches wouldn’t fuck, I’d just finger roll in ‘em
You probably got on socks with the finger toes in ‘em
Homo-sexual, 44 deadin’ you
If you ain’t trying to catch these bullets you better have Ocho next to you
I’m in a crib fucking a white bitch that’s Coco flexible
Give my lil dog the word and have Todo stretching you
Y’all used to X giving punchlines and metaphors
Or hear him talking bout his dime, we seen her and met her for
But fuck them punchlines, still carry that metal four
To run up on that Volkswagen and put 6 in that Jetta door
Squeeze til he dead though, then fuck it
I’ma slide thru Jersey, hit Ars with that Commando
Body Suge, use that Shotgun and gave Red four
So I’m not saying Gracias when I send ya the Halo/hello
This is personal! It has nothing to do with you, y’all know, Surf is my nigga
That’s why this ass whooping is actually hurting my feelings
But you a scared cat, I would offer you a fair scrap
Nah, I just fuck his moms in front of him bareback
Camel clutch, smack her butt, give her derriere slaps
Before I slide, hit em with 95 when I air macs/max
How the fuck am I your rival when I was once your idol?
I get gone off that hydro, drop 4 when I let 5 from the 9 go
And he wouldn’t survive with a bible and the preacher’s revival
Your obituary just reads “survive by who?”
Y’all know, mother, daughter, sister, auntie, niece and them
Run up in the wake, crack nieces chin, get his niece with 10
Put eggs slack in that Hershey paper, stick in her Easter bin
Should I hit grammy with the hammy? Nah see, it depends
If she brave, she getting slayed, but if it shit and that depends
I just break her feet, toss her ass in that lake or beach to swim
Don’t move when I grab the gat!
I’m in my zone he slipped dropped his iPhone
So holmes got his apple cracked
My bitches wouldn’t let you sniff they period panties
Fuck one of my hoes? You better do some serious planning
Cuz you got a face like you 88 with a furious tanning
And half of ya mixtape was copped by one of our granny’s
A nigga on twitter said, “X, you need to battle a big name”
That shit threw me for a minute, nigga I am the big name
Besides Mook, Lux and Rex, Miles, Math and Iron Solomon
The rest of these lil nuts ain’t under my food chain
And that’s no disrespect; I fuck with the boy Surf
But fuck outta here you bum ass nigga…

[Round 1: Tsu Surf]

First thing I hear when I touchdown is “Surf, the Midwest grooving”
Such and such nice, what’s his name doing his numbers
And I don’t see a Midwest losing
Well I can think of a few Verbs for niggas that think they Ill
I come thru the Midwest cruising, X all Factors
Hit all men trying to Holla cuz the Calicoe’s under this Big T
Will cease that Midwest movement
He probably thinking we supposed to fight
Like I’m a throw the left then I’m a throw the right
I’ll frown step back, pull that 40 out that holster like “BLOAH!”
You’ll see X across the screen like I bowled a strike
I should slap piss down ya leg, sucker
You know suckers love to have bad name
Cuz that’s what they used to call his mother
I hope she on her death bed with cancer on her nipples
Back home the code word for the 9 is Spalding
And the hood say I’m Brandon Jennings with the dribble
Pilled up, strap down squatting in that range on ‘em
Hop out, two piece, bible and a thang for ‘em
Straight to his front door so I don’t gotta aim for ‘em
Ding dong are you ready for Jehovah’s return? Then bang on him!
Twin .38’s both damn hands, slide doors, 6 goons and a damn van
For the pebbles that “ch-ch” go Bam Bam
If we 40 deep that’s 40 9’s, San Fran
That heckler shit rip ya liver might splat, nah I ain’t gon kill ‘em like that
Straight between the eyes let it fly when the heater bust
Nope that ain’t mean enough, it look like fireworks rippin off the gage
You’ll find X in a box up top like I’m clicking off the page
I was fucking with ya shorty, I could tell you what the sex life
Boy you would think we was married, got divorced
And still fucking her the way I’m dicking down (E)X wife
She wanna Surf Tsu, holla “Tsunami!” when I’m hitting her
And only call me for the shish kabob, that’s the stick in her
If this was basketball then goddamnit I’m ballin’
I feel like Reggie and the fans gon be mad at son (Madison)
Cuz I’ll put squares in a Garden
If all the real niggas Muslims, then you pork
And it don’t take a (?) of goggles to see I’m bout to settle in New York
Never snitch, never scared, never killed, never bodied
Time to pop, I Lil Jon the whole spot
SHOT, SHOT, SHOT, SHOT, SHOT, SHOTS, EVERYBODY!
I remember it clear as day, I was chilling one night
Getting pipe from some yellow bitch I met on Skype
She said, “suck til it’s nothing left”
The phone rung soon as she started to get right
I said, “who the fuck is this?!”
She said, “it’s Ms. Johnson, X-Factor’s mother
I just need a minute of your life, no he’s not gangsta, no he’s not a thug
His real name is Delshawn Johnson & the family calls him Bub” What?
“No he ain’t gangsta, he don’t play in them streets
I blame it on that God damn Trick Trick and that damn boy Meech
I said “Ms. Johnson, hold on…” “what you stop for?” “Ms. Johnson,
You old bitch you really sound sweet
I appreciate your concern but your sons a fucking geek
If I was closer to the D I’d turn ya old ass freak
And I brought my camera so when you see these pics
You’ll be shitting in that pamper for a week”
Now back to you Delshawn
We all know it’s an act ock, you don’t bang 9’s you don’t let that mag pop
I clap ock, mac’s out the window, Dell fold, that’s laptop
Semi automatic Smith n’s around here
Tell K-Shine I do the zipping around here!
[Round 2: X-Factor]

You look like you evolve from dirt, pollen and dandelions
You bout soft as Ray-J but look bout ugly as Brandy crying
So how you hanging slanging banging nigga?
And got all these hammers flying
When up to you was 13
You ain’t sleep right unless you had ya pajamas ironed
You been a broad, when they see them slugs go, that’ll stop ya blood flow
All your men will pause (menopause)
Them marksmen, them my men indeed
They let that trigger squeeze with enough aim
To shoot the back legs off a centipede
I’m in Southward, fuck you, spades game
Pulled his card, hit his deck with 2 jokers, cutting
Then y’all will watch southward shuffle
You were fronting like that (?) nigga
Surf must be crazy but you ain’t Cee-lo nigga
You want beef I brought that meatloaf nigga
Now I’m PO nigga, I got game when talking with these hoes nigga
I’m in that NO with a trio that’s (?) nigga
And that’s real life, that steel pipe will pick his ass up
He think he fly, that’s what levitations feel like
I didn’t murder Jordan or Tyson but yes I kill Mike’s/Mic’s
And I’m still nice with that metal why will I still fight?
That missle hit ‘em, pistol whip em, get his grill iced
You’re like this shit don’t feel right
That’s cuz he a little closer to feel Christ
As of late though, I been feeling like Steel right
Steel pipe, steel knife and with that steel I steal lives
I’m running shit, I’m a Possum, you niggas still mice
If I was in position as this nigga, I wouldn’t feel life
I’ll head first dive off a bridge while the water still ice
And if I live, shit, kill a kid and do a bid, life
You got me pissed off with all this damn buffoonery
Nigga you ain’t half the man that ya daughter is soon to be
I run up on him while he rocking all that jewelry
Then smack the fuck out of him for fooling me with all that foolery
That jail time couldn’t prepare you for all these bars
Them credit card scams couldn’t prepare me for all these frauds
You wanna win this battle? You better pray to all these gods
Buddha, Jesus Christ, Jah (?) I say praise Allah!
That first one was bad, but I’d rather the sequel
Cuz what’s on my hip look like some shit from Resident Evil
It’s gon look like the OJ scene after he developed that evil
But this glove’s a tight fit, now I’m Mike Vick
Kill his dogs cuz my arms great with the Eagle
I be over niggas heads, my shit just too mean bro
Like for example, if he say he sitting on pies and he triple beamed up
That’s the only thing he did his whole life to get his cream up
Then he’s depending on that ‘caine more than Mr. Peanut
Fuck everything about this bitch’s existence
You knew you was gon lose before you got here
Don’t just blame that on ya woman’s intuition
Every time he fuck a bitch all his women’s in to wishing
That for 5 minutes they could lend that shit a couple inches
Stop all this fictional shit bout ya glock 9
How you whipping the rock and seen more pots
Then a nigga dyslexic staring at a stop sign, that shit I’m not buying
But on the contrary if he say he slung dimes, he was (?)
I flew up to Jers I said, “I thought you nigga cigs burst & y’all flare techs?”
Them motherfuckers wasn’t crip with Squidwards clarinet
Fuck outta here nigga…

[Round 2: Tsu Surf]

He must think I’m Micro-soft, he ain’t got the Word about Surf
Them niggas softer than sheep ass, they ain’t heard/herd about Surf
So clip on the bottom, top got the beam
All black hoodie and the mask off of Scream
Lock pick his door, “eeehhhh!” I was about to let it ring
But I ain’t wanna hit his mother with a rocket, yah mean? (Yao Ming)
Told his man down, check down the hall
(?) if you don’t wanna let it fly, he getting ‘em all
I’ll push the door open, he’ll be shitting his draws
Before he can say, “what the-“ knock his head thru the wall
Modern day Jason, Steve Irwin, Hannibal
He gon die trying to fuck with these animals
Mac’s, 9’s, Oozee’s, we got all kind of techs
Amber alerts, code reds, I’m talking bout bomb threats
Yeah we dress like Crips, but we roll like Saddam’s set
The only remains gon be the footage, like The Blair Witch Project
I notice everybody popping til you crack ‘em
So for they garlic bread I call my Italians, whack ‘em!
This Goodfella get Joe Pesci’d, they’ll find him in a ditch nigga
You got Adam’s apple with Eve’s pussy, you lil bitch nigga
All these battle rap characters talking bout how they tools spit
But wouldn’t aim at any bar with a pool stick
Everything I got in the clip, watch this fool git
Cuz over the cake that thing spread, this 9 like cool whip
Okay let’s say he did have a 40, he wouldn’t pull it
I see his son like, “wassup lil nigga
You wanna play hot potato, with a bullet?”
Ask about me, on the set, I’m the reason that these nerds dying
Check his Twitter, that’s the only time his bird’s flying
My lil bitch I’m fucking from Detroit told me he soft
And he’ll be lying if he ever say his tech’s spit
And if we looking for the first nigga to hit the door
When them slugs fly, then exit/X it
The shells is for these guys, the swag’s for the hoes
If I do catch a body, they gon need another bag for ya nose
He getting pissed on, pistol whipped if that clip drop
12 in his nugget, (?) the clip hot
Fresh up in New York, yeah I’m new up in this spot
Grip glocks long range I’m like Chauncey when that knick pop
Let me find out he sending that Carmelo
Nigga like me might be close to his home
So I’m side clapping like Spike Lee
I’ma tell you the truth, you ain’t there nigga
Ain’t nothing Ill in ya DNA, same Factor
I look and see fear nigga, like, aye BooBoo, you looking at a bear nigga!
Y’all pretty girls rock, a club of bitches
Smack said, “Surf, what you think of X?” I said O, hugs and kisses
But I shouldn’t even spit that, that’s why I’m underrated now
Cuz ain’t no telling when y’all get that
Or shit like, (?) that’s them lower case techs
I cap glocks and these caps lock, watch me lower case X
Few choppers when we lurkin, couple vests when we mobbin
A church going man doesn’t want trouble
So Algebra 2’s the only time you’ll see X in a problem
He smoking coke bout to (?) this boy win
I fuck around and get domestic charges
The way I beat Factor like a jealous boyfriend
He trappin? Let me find out he getting green on the porch
I walk up like, “aye youngin you got a dime?”
To give ‘em 9 like a fiend coming short
Jersey!

[Round 3: X-Factor]

I’m a marter, I’ll slaughter ya father
If we beefin you better throw a vest on ya daughter
I’m done playing ya little game
First two rounds kept ya audience entertained
I showed I’ll kill you in a fair equal exchange
Without compromising myself without jeopardizing my name
But now I’ll do me, I’ll kill him with some punchlines
I’ll even use a couple URL battle styles since it’s crunch time
Fuck it, we could have a lil trivia, make it a fun time
I’ll even drop they name in a bar at least one time
But first let me go in, you can’t fade me so if y’all say it’s a tie
I’m laughing, my goons all blazers, if my style he try and jack it/jacket
But y’all know he ain’t built/belt that’s why his bars all slacking
If he stop he getting socked, Stacy, I’m Adam
So I want this battle over and that toe y’all got, tag it
That nigga already well suited for that casket
But I ain’t done yet, you must heard I’m hot dog, who want it?
I tell ‘em catch up/ketchup but never relish in the moment
Want beef? I’ll put cheese and lettuce on his onion
Find ya bitch, my pickle in her buns by the morning
Yeah, I’m the best to touch a microphone
This lil micro fag sound like my micro clone
You ain’t tough, ya body ain’t got a psycho bone in it
And you too timid, need to leave that mic alone
Type of nigga to get nervous when that fight is on
Bowel movement, bladder loosen when it strike his dome
You’ll piss ya pants when that pipe is drawn
So in ya jeans we’ll see (C) you (U) pee (P), no Styrofoam
I was (?) now, yo I ain’t get (?) til I’m (?) and I’m fucking Halle nigga
Ya bitch get out of line, you better check her like Rally’s nigga
I’m off that plane lame yes, fresh from Cali nigga
Grown pop, dome shot, stretch ‘em like Bally’s nigga
I hope your fucking grandmother dies of liver cancer
Same day is the worst day ya daughters birthday
She dies in an earthquake and class becoming a river dancer
You a bitch to me, you walk with a switch and see
Don’t push me cuz your more pussy than a hysterectomy
I grab his gal, fuck her well, she scratch my back til she break her nails
She suck my dick then lick his lips but I told her never kiss and tell
Now that’s the battle rap motto to follow
Cuz those Verbs were slick as Ice but still sharp as a Hollow
I’m not playing with you little fucks no more nigga I’m fed up!
I’ll let Cortez (?) and tell Tech to keep his head up
So you is just a sacrifice for them F up’s, I’m saying
You better start to praying that I mess up
My nigga’s all nuts, no payday
It’s like sex in the fifth month, they’ll cause a melee
Them fours bend like a death day morning, no day break
I’m on the run, catch me in Florida sun, I’m JJ
I’m the best rapper known as a tech clapper
And I keep that snub that got a nose like X-Factor
I got them hollow heads, leave him with a hollow head
Have his mom’s crying like Rocky cuz Apollo dead
I just fat bitch bungee cord snapped on this nigga
I just fat bitch bungee cord snapped on this nigga!
Honestly I’m outmatched for this nigga
I fuck around put the pump to the back of this nigga
And squeeze until there’s lunch on the lap of this nigga
This battle I take it with ease
And by the way he had steak, mash potatoes
And broccoli bacon with cheese
When that four blaze, duck! You a old faced fuck, fuck outta here nigga…
[Round 3: Tsu Surf]

Tsunami was supposed to take an L y’all, but it won’t be today
But you gon need Charlie Clips giving you tips
If 500 niggas screaming, “get ‘em the fuck outta here”
Cuz losing ain’t in my DNA
Clip on the bottom, neck where the strap at
I smell pussy… we’ll find where these cats at
Aim for what? I just swing when I (?) that
And hold 52 like a deck, so he at least gon get the gold and black Jack
I want the homies, I want the kids, I want any of that man kin
He trying to surf a tsunami, question is can that man swim?
So by these, I call the goons and say, “Eli”
That mean shoot whatever that man in (Manning)
See the sports bars keep it undercover like, like, like
Grab the Rondo, give ‘em Odom and save Joe Johnson for his mother
Now take that extra Amare Stoudamire and bring the Phoenix
Give em throwback Wizard’s until the barrel Gilbert Arenas
I could give a fuck how hot is cuz I make it a wet summer
You in my way, well I ain’t talking about ya mother’s boyfriends son
When I say you gotta step, brother
If he did have a strap, I’ll look him in the face with the gun
Cuz he wouldn’t play action if he was faking a run
If I’m coming I’m coming you ain’t gotta invite me over
Twin 32 6 shot with the (?)
(?) under the arm in case I gotta clean the odor
Heard you was eating I’m in his crib like a freeloader
He in the house like leggings and a two-two
Laughing in Nicki Minaj voice, every bar be (Barbie) plastic
No cremation in it cuz all I’m leaving is ashes
Everybody Macho Man til it’s ding ding with a Savage
Knew ya bitch was cheating but you thought ya man was involved
Til she slid out her thong and had sand in her draws
Son of a beach, yeah she was Surfin, multi-tasking taking pictures
Posing, gagging, slurping, swallowing, burping
Her head game’s a wrap we nicknamed her Turban
I got the drop from Turban, heard where he might be
She said just look for a big nose nigga in a HP white T
But you gotta be quiet cuz if he sense trouble he might flee
So I put the silencer on the chopper, bet he can’t hit a K like me
You got a Elf swag with Santa’s nose
Catch up with his Wifey, slam her blows
Wap hold 100, hand him those
Angle shots, his bitch get low cut, Amber Rose
Oh Miles ya mans? Miles man? Will he ride? Will he bang with you?
Will he still be alive to describe when them real niggas came for you?
Will he run, jump, use his chest when I aim for you?
He will? Shit he must have the heart of Bruno Mars
Cuz he gon catch a grende for you
I told my niggas fall back, I got it, let me handle ‘em
Then show up with that mask in Detroit and let it RIP, Hamilton!
It made CNN, news reporter said it was something bad
Cops discover X, but only found V cuz I only left his upper half
His legs flipped, his neck ripped, and his chest spin
Boy you would think I was Magneto the way I swing metal at X men
Scud missles, rocket launchers, sound like I’m letting grenades off
Go ahead and try what?
But that thing got a beam like Cyclops with the shades off
Safe to say I ain’t wait until the beam got him
You could be fast as Sonic, that .45 will knock all his damn rings out him
He’ll be Ghost, Pat Swayze, knock his soul out his frame
The cops will find X far, like if I shot the C, T, O out his name
Baseball glove, snow suit, regular strap
He in the car, I’m in his backseat, metal to clap
By the time you notice it’s too late, melon will splat
6 from me, Lebron James, he look better in black
Everybody think they nice, let me train y’all
Remember what I said in the first round about Spalding?
I brought the same ball, give ‘em 30 from long range
Got the crowd screaming (?)
Last point I pump fake, jab, pump fake, pump fake, jab
Then hit Holla with the game ball
Ball Game!

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