Hitman Holla vs. Conceited [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Hitman Holla]
First off moment of silence for Phara and Shooney
Let me guess Con’
If shit get out of hand you gon pull out that big machine like this
Shut up!
You look like the type of nigga that swing like this
Nigga I’m from St. Louis where all year round nigga it’s chrome season
Chill Con’…you know I’m known for making Worldstar…for the wrong reasons
You ain’t heard? I’m a boss, I ain’t gotta let that tooly go
I point and give my Wolves the assist, I’m like Rubio
Y’all put Jada’ in his prime versus Coolio?
A 3rd street corner on an island with Julio
Con’, rap about your wardrobe, some shit that you really got
Don’t rap about a war role, shit that you ain’t never shot
All you know is Polo, Fendi on the buckle
What you know about a solo 30 minute scuffle?
What you know about gang fights? 30 niggas rush you
And ya head on a swivel cause a nigga might cut you
Nothing… I done been involved with that
And still found time to make the playoffs, my stats
In High School and college, I’m a boss with that
And I ain’t never had a job, I got it all from rap
Matter fact, fuck a convo, I’m pretty sure Con know
I’m wild, Congo, he a Muppet, Gonzo
I send shots that you couldn’t block with Alonzo
Boy stop we can box, I’ll beat ’em blindfold
Yeah, you on Wild N Out, so?
What he signed for?
I hurt Con and take him out of that season like Rondo
Meet his ass in Brooklyn like, “Nigga what you lying for?”
Take his body with me drag ’em across the Verazzano
I give ’em 30 at the half
You better call a timeout before ya fans find out
You floating and they find you in the water like Lebron house
Witnesses like, “We saw a man in front of Con house”
Ding ding ding, yeah stupid I’m who they talkin bout
P.S. ya songs ass Con you ain’t got no tracks buzzing
Delivery trash you act foul but won’t hack nothing
All you got is bars, nothing else, I don’t lack nothing
I volunteered to coach this bitch nigga, I’m Pat Summitt
You 4’11” chill you wouldn’t attack nothing
You shooting? A room full of balls you wouldn’t clap nothing Pause, I get my hands on Con, I’ll snap something
Punch him in his chest and fuck around break his back from it
You don’t really want that action, you worried about matching
Con you’s a bitch cause my bitch could fit ya jacket
New York I ain’t bragging, but a nigga living good
And rich I’m not that, son, house, cars, yeah I got that
Con 4 years older than me and still live with his mama
So bragging is what a Goofy do
If I live with my mama my closet would be Gucci too
Con’ I was in Miami, you don’t even have a car
But you flossing like you ball
What’s the point of red bottoms if you walking to the mall?
I ain’t X, I ain’t gon talk about priorities nigga
But transportation over shoes mean more to me nigga
And your style is the next decline, me? I’m electrifying
This science class, I transform I’m dissecting con
“If that was me, I would’ve a fucked both y’all up I would’ve took ’em to the roof, made both y’all jump”
Shotgun you a fraud, you wanna bully your way
So what you pushed on Bill, why you ain’t do that to Swave?
What we supposed to be spooked because you brung Watts?
Fuck Shotgun Suge, we’ll have Suge gunshot
And all you niggas bringing props to win, I ain’t with that
If Holla bring a prop that bitch gon come with a kickback
Soon as I lift that, watch a nigga load it up
That bitch go KABOOM!
Lil brother gon have to hold me up!
You niggas bringing props to win, I ain’t with that
If Holla bring a prop that bitch gon come with a kickback
If Holla bring a prop that bitch gon come with a kickback
Soon as I lift that, watch a nigga load it
Soon as I lift that, watch a nigga load it
That bitch go KABOOM!
That bitch go KABOOM!
That bitch go KABOOM!
Lil brother gon have to hold me up!!!
BALL GAME NIGGA!
What’s big money to small change?
Two words after this… BALL GAME!

[Round 1: Conceited]
I’ma quote John John word for word
Don’t act like you ain’t die from a Hollow before
Now I said it verbatim
SLOW IT DOWN! I JUST DISSED YOU!
Don’t act like you ain’t die from a Hollow before and I said it, Verb ate ’em
Yo Smack I’m tired of this
You brought me another college kid trying to spit like he fire clips
You go to school in St. Louis on a scholarship
So that means Arsonal drives the bus and you ride the shit!
How the fuck are you a Blood and a school boy?
But you be gripping them treys
I don’t know which C’s you scared of seeing more The Crips or your grades
But you steady keep talking how your guns go
But even if he had straight A’s would he let his 4 point? No (4.0)
Why would I believe that you cock them toasters?
My shit’ll start kicking like bad breath y’all all will notice
I knew I smelled something funny If somebody say they know where Holla toast is (Halitosis)
Nigga this can is not for colas, nigga this pop is not a soda
If you say ya chain got rocks and boulders
And them jewels make ya chest cold
I’ll make you cough it up if you got ’em on ya (pneumonia)
You said you got signed to play ball overseas
The lie detector said THAT was a lie
Nigga you lie about everything, that’s why I have to get rid of you
I’ve never seen one jersey or even one highlight
And that’s something that’s minimal
Nigga you lie to everybody about playing ball overseas
Something we never see now that’s just pitiful
That’s why Hitman like that movie the Sixth Man
Cause all his ballin is invisible
But if you are that nice, why’d you use battle rap as ya claim to fame?
All that flavor you think you got is watered down like Gatorade
Nigga you’re garbage and this is something you gonna hate I say
If you were that nice you should’ve stuck with Hoopz like Flavor Flav
You said you got signed to Taylor Gang
The lie detector said THAT was a lie!
Nigga you lie about everything
Your dick riding ass hoped on Chevy’s Wood and did a song And now you think you part of that fucking group?
Listen hater you wouldn’t be tailored if you were in a custom suit
Wiz wouldn’t come near you if you were a toilet bowl
And you thought they’ll be the ones to sign them checks
To let your lame ass throw up them two fingers and be the ones they rep
Soon as he thought Chevy was gonna let ’em be a Taylor and be on they set
Wiz came out and cut off that Taylor, Swift like Kanye West
I palm them Tecs and I carry choppers, it’ll sing like Mary Poppins
And pick ’em up with the sweepers like Harry Potter
Nigga you carry nada, you can catch me on the corner like Walgreens
Waving like some palm trees
You and the whole Yett Yett gang, y’all all sweet
The stock will have him in-vest for thinking you all (Wall) Street Nigga that’s on me you better have a next plan
That tool clap then move back like Lebron’s headband
Ayo Verb, it’s kinda like you getting ready for a wedding
You got the blazers, tuxedos, a ring boy
Get a couple, an alter, ya best man
I said I got the blazers tucked, see those will ring boy It’ll get a couple, all to ya best man
If I see any types of whips and chains, I instantly become a slave
Say anything I don’t feel nigga and I’ll start picking like a runaway
In other words everybody can get off like Columbus Day
You can see me with a couple like a double date
To take y’all both out before you get home, that’s a double play
And let me find out that one of y’all got a ton of cake
It’s like the Kardashian house cause you can get Rob’bed with a bunch of K’s
You said you was gonna beat Bill Collector’s ass when you seen him
The lie detector said THAT was a lie!
Nigga when that nigga approached you turned straight bitch on ’em
When the Bill Collector has your number you’re supposed to click on ’em
I’m talking ’bout empty that clip on ’em
Like you at a restaurant you supposed to get the Bill and put tips on em
But instead you made ya baby brother fight him
Nobody could even find ya ass
When they was scrapping you ran out on Bill like a dine and dash
What happened Hitman?
You thought he was gonna give you “the burna!”
Nigga all that shit you was talking I thought you would murk ’em
Now I see he was just acting like he would Kill Bill like Uma Thurman
Now lastly he supposed to be some big ass Blood
You should’ve got in straight with Hanz swinging
Now he showed us 5 wouldn’t face Bill if he was Abraham Lincoln
Game over nigga!
HAAANNNHH!!!

[Round 2: Hitman Holla]
New York City
Looks like we got ourselves another…
1, 2, 3, 4 punchline 1, 2, 3, 4 punchline… then he might “Slow It Down”
Look I understand he give y’all bar after bar after bar, y’all crave that
But I’m so amazed that, how do y’all praise that
When he can’t even tell his loyal fans where he was raised at
If that’s the case I’m sicker than ya average
Holla twist carrots off instinct, niggas don’t think since thin pink gators
My Detroit players, shouts to my hooligans in Brooklyn
Oh? I can’t take a nigga rap?
What? That’s some lame shit
Well Con rep a state where he not from, that’s the same shit
See we had a friendship that ain’t looked at as rap
St. Louis, you needed food I took you to that
St. Louis mall trips, I took you to that
MTV gave you the call, I send my congrats
But on the flip side he throw dirt on my back
He talked to DNA and tried to hate on my app
I’m like “Damn, you supposed to be down for me Reggie
Damn, you supposed to be ’round for me Reggie.”
How you salty? You supposed to be proud of me heavy
I’m confused, how the fuck you gon be sour, Reggie?
Fuck it, rock-a-bye baby, I’ll roof ‘ern and make his cradle rock
Hole in his head, that 40 giving out bagel shots
Flip his (?) when I shoot, that’s that waiter shot
Split his chicken nugget, I’m Russian, give ’em a tater tot
Bring a beef right to his hood, let his neighbor watch
Local cops don’t mean nothing, you need the state or SWAT
Being dead? That ain’t cool, it ain’t okay to rot
Boy ya whole street will get served, I Al Quieda blocks
No, ya whole street will get served, I’ll waiter blocks
No, ya whole street will get served, Serena play the block
When I spray the Glock, turn a live hood to a vacant lot
If he run, shit’ll get fun, I’ll spray his socks
I’ll give more cause what’s in store I don’t save a lot
Give more, save a lot, the store, Save-A-Lot
That’s a power line, put Con in a cable box
Who remember? He ain’t real comp’
I just needed something to practice on
Weapon so big when I bought it I had to drag it home
Well this new `matic ain’t even fair
That bitch so big when I bought it I had to leave it there
His bitch in the way when I shoot, I don’t even care
They ricocheted and rip through her tracks look like I’m weaving hair
Con;, it’s a known fact if I’m mad, I don’t never lose
A problem if I get in my zone I’m like Syracuse
Smack, you want me to kill ’em? Give me that revenue
And pick out a church cause he dead, even the Reverend knew
This uppercut will put him to sleep, I’m so medical
The whole world knew I would kill ’em, even Reginald/knew
When you think of Hitman you think of gang fights, street shit
You think about Conceited it’s Honey Buns, sweet shit
Ya nuts on the back of a nigga neck, that’s G shit?
Nah, that’s some You Got Served/Raz B shit
I can get you kilt on command, fuck a con-firmation
With that 9 I’ll spy ’em, call that con-centration
Then I switch to that .40 that’s com-bination… damn, that C.O.M. fuck
Enough with all that Con shit
Psyche, let’s get back to that Con shit
You got all bars but ain’t never been a con-vict
I’ll have niggas rushing you out ya pocket I get Con Vicked
I’m pissed, you slick with ya lips, get out of con-tent
I shoot at his whip, I got night vision for Con’ tints
His ol’ girl play games but then again Con know
PS, we (WII) connect (KINECT) in ya ex box (XBOX) that hurt Con’ soul (Console)
I know you know we friends but the back of his mind I know Con worried
Cause I could get Con buried on the con-trary
You told Surf, “something, something, make believe Something, something, but Math did it
And I would fuck Joe Budden girl, but Fab did it
I mean I got a lil question, I mean I know it ain’t my business
But ain’t telling the world
Another nigga fucked another nigga girl, dry snitching?
That’s how I know his clique the “S.O.N.S.” full of nerds
And Conceited lame
Let me find out you snitching take me to trial
And the judge say Conceited name
I brawl/ball Now S.O.N.S. / Suns all over the court it’s like a Phoenix game
That “Murda Murda Kill Kill” what I’m usually on
And if you bout what you saying prove me wrong
It ain’t a god damn game when I’m using arms
I’ll let that whole thing go like I’m moving on
Ball game!

[Round 2: Conceited]
Reality check Holla, you are not a young star, dawg
You’re 25 and last December you bought your first car, dawg
But what y’all don’t know, he couldn’t keep up with them payments
Now he on them St. Louis bus rides
So even at a charity event you still wouldn’t see this Blood drive
Reality check Holla, you see I had to check that
You are not, I repeat, you are not from the west side
You are from Hazelwood so throw up yo H bitch and rep that
But if you get too comfortable then we spraying our stock
And you can get bucks in return for throwing up that H in our (H&R) block
You see when Verb exposed your reality, that nigga slayed you
Word Wars never paid you, they played you
You battled for Verb for free so those reality checks were the only checks he ever gave you
You ol’ soft ass “Blood” acting like you give the iron a dump
I could have it on my lap like Calicoe or like Rex got that 9 in the trunk
But you know what’s in the coat, Tecs (Kotex)
Soon as he saw that max he (maxi) got the red dot in the front
I’ll show up to his pad Always
To put this blood in the box like that time of the month
You ol’ fraudulent fuck
The closest you ever came to a biscuit was a dinner stove
You can get ya ass clapped when I throw tips at it like a stripper’s pole
Man to man if we get in the zone I could take it out
And shots lick his top like an envelope
That’s wack right?
Now watch this If I see a Face Booked then you getting poked
I could take out the knife, slit ya throat
Or I could still let ’em lift ya soul
Like stilettos, pumps, lift ya sole
I said it’s like stilettos cause I still let it lift ya sole
We could get to the ice pick or go to the hammers now
Cause I’m the type to still want it if it’s war/worn like a hand-me-down
I’ll blam the town and them cliques buckin’
Shots make him take that vest off like McLovin
Nigga ya whole clique’s bluffin, everybody in it including you gay
This nigga’s tripping, if he said he’s packing it’s a suitcase
I’ll let that tool spray, you can get kicked and pushed
And these Lasers will make everybody from the Lou’ pay (Lupe) So one day I’m at my bitch crib watching a battle
Typed in Hitman Holla vs. Aye Berb, like “Oh these niggas about to scrap.”
She said, “Ohh, J.J. from Good Times?!”
I said, “No no baby, that’s Hitman Holla.”
But besides that there, that nigga can rap
That’s when I continued watching and I finally seen some crap
The battle reached 7 minutes and 44 seconds and you took off your hat
Soon as I saw it I started fucking laughing
Nigga that lines goes back further than Summer Madness
My nigga your forehead looks like four heads
And whoever cut you don’t even make your shit straight
I think he’s hating
The only place we can see a line up that crooked is in a police station
I cannot believe you came hurr with that hair, you a goner
Forget fucking ya rhymes up, the way he keep fucking your line up I think Earl is ya barber
Nigga them burners will spark ya, AK’s, AR’s, big Beretta’s
You’ll think I’m Prince Charming cause I’ll be looking for him everywhere with the pump like he Cinderella
Y’all already know how Hitman move I can stand right here and do the shit that Hitman do
“No bars, no bars, aggression…. No bars, no bars, aggression…”
Then he might…”Remix”
Nigga it’s a good thing you played ball cause that relates to your real life
You are just an online thug you bitch, that’s why ya career is all net, swish
Nigga you are a ball player, not a fucking gangsta, you don’t grip at all
The only time you get the steal is if you strip the ball
Nigga you are a ball player, not a fucking gangsta
A block shot the only time you seen a pack
You doing a full court press nigga, that’s what you mean you trap?
Nigga you are a ball player
So if he said he tell easy breezy’s to get in that cover girl
That’s something he makeup
It’s ironic how you play ball but never had a bitch to layup
Ya wifey is just somebody that I face fuck
Treat her like Marge Simpson and get my top blew/blue straight up
I keep that 8 tucked, pumps for ya pops
And anything he don’t get then ya mommy can
Now it’s ya brother’s turn, it’s Show’s time to get aired On Demand
I’m coming for everybody in Holla fam’ like that coach chilla (Coachella) Coming for 2 packs (2Pac) for Holla-grams
HANHHH!
Game over nigga

[Round 3: Hitman Holla]
I was the only nigga on the campus repping the set
I led the league in techs cause I was checking the refs
Let me guess Con, you messing wit Meth?
Both me and my brother known to shoot we like Stephan and Seth
Yo Chilla, I can scheme that, hold on wait
We don’t settle for Bronze, we get to duken when it’s Gold at state
If you owe me and I go broke, I’m on Reggie set
With Choppers that don’t fit on the scale, that’s them heavy Tecs
I get this 4 close (foreclose) homes and take Con dough (Condo) to end Reggie debt
If this was Madison Square Garden, y’all would be Spike Lee
Watching me put hands around Reggie neck
My nigga Con got booed 2’d round
I mean I fuck with ’em, I’ma give him a chance
You could have this 3rd round, I’d rather reminisce with my fans
I’m the nigga that told a nigga I went to where she stay at
Pull my boxers down that’s where she put her face at
Jumped up out the bed like where you want me to spray at?
She said “it doesn’t matter plus this where Richie lay at.”
Hold on, I’m the nigga that told a nigga I listen for the cries when
I spot her, pick her up by her thighs then put her under my chin
Cut across her chest…
Wait, I’m the nigga that told a nigga it’s Hitman Read between the fine prints
This weapon ain’t on safety, it ain’t John Lynch
Night vision came with a scope, see ’em behind tints
Michael Jackson Motown Glove, you can’t find prints
I’m the nigga that told a nigga, I come around you around, do not move
Don’t crack a smile, I’m not ya pal, we’re not cool
You goldfishes not allowed in a Croc pool
And if you jump in understand that you Croc’ food
I guess since y’all trying to boo I’m supposed to be hurt
Y’all boo and I’ma stop what I was doing?
That shit ain’t gon work
I’m the nigga that told a nigga, what you got protection now?
Chopper knock his section down, grab him by his — I’ma save that for the sec-
I’m the nigga that told a nigga, it’s a lot of weapons I could slay y’all with
The black gloves, rubber grip with the radar chip
I come to one of Verb parties with an AR clip
And shoot soon as I get in like I’m JR Smith
Now I took it easy and didn’t write a 3rd
I gave you my word
I still won the battle and I gave you the 3rd
Well I’m supposed to write a 3rd cause he the best
Nigga sit down, I ain’t even write a 3rd I’m thinking of shit now
I’m a hooper, I shoot ’em on the rim when that thing pop
The cops will find Con-vo on the net like a screenshot
I understand y’all booing cause the crowd cold
That last bar ain’t make sense but shit it sound cold

[Round 3: Conceited]
Fuck all them bitch ass personals and them soft raps
It’s been way too long Smack
I’m going to the original DVD era and bringing straight bars back
Listen Hitman Holla, everybody in here swear you corny When the gat drawn you be the one I put the Cap-on(e) like you be with Norey
Nigga it’ll flash and light in ya face like you telling a scary story
Hitman Holla you got some heaters for me?
I’ll have ’em like a midlife crisis, not wanting to go near the 40
Hear me shorty, I’ll do this man badly
If he say he’ll let the Glock squirt, I’ll pop first like a granddaddy
3K’s will do this man badly
It’ll put so much people under white sheets from that cross fire it’ll look like a Klan rally
Nigga with no punchlines, how are you beating me?
You couldn’t blow up with TNT, get ya bars a rep up with GNC
That’s why everybody hates ya lines like the DMV
Y’all gon follow him and see him get picked like Instagram
That gauge peel, I spray steel like Spic and Span
Shot’s will get rid of Hitman heart/Hart like Vince McMahon
I X-Men like Wolverine with the steel at hand
You could get the blades to your roof like a ceiling fan
Nigga these are bars, not the type of bars that I’m spittin’ fam’
I’m talking bars, like Seagrams
Absolut, liquor shots, Tequila man
SLOW IT DOWN! I JUST DISSED YOU!
I said I see grams, I absolute lick a shot to kill a man
Listen fam’ all that screaming and yelling, that don’t mean shit
When will you stop and learn
You getting loud there will only make it get wild here/hair like Howard Stern
Make sure I’ma get all these rhymes’ out
July 9th everybody watch Wild N Out
HANHH!!!!

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