The last time we saw you, that JC performance was hot
You spit that lava
But your best concepts? I’m the one you bit that off of
The rest was recycled bars you had for T-Dubb-O, and you flipped that proper
So I guess you recycle, Bulletz (bullets), like Hitman Holla
But to be a hitman, you need steady grip, heavy fifs
You’re only like Hitman Holla ‘cause it’s the same Bulletz (bullets)…every clip!
Reverse punchlines, local sports bars, get the crowd in a frenzy quick
I’ll leave little pieces of Bulletz (bullets) spread everywhere – you’d think a semi spit!
But I don’t need a gat
Your arms are shorter than the Conceited rack at the Fetus Gap
You’re lazy and fallin’ off like Norbes’ face – let me even that
You probably got X-rayed-ed at Norbes’ place for a PG match
What happened in your Proving Ground battle? I hear from Twitter
It was the worst PG to flop since Derek Fisher
That was your dream
This is real life, the air is thicker
100 Bulletz (bullets) ain’t shit when you don’t flare the trigger
You took an L to Dan, took an L to ‘Cane
The Saurus beat you ‘cause we didn’t know what the hell you were sayin’
You just pointed to the crowd and yelled some names
And that was the best we seen from the Bulletz (Bullets) since Elvin Hayes
That shit was wack, but truthfully, I can’t tell ya
He’s holdin’ the camera, that’s a hand-helder
You were up there lookin’ like the sign language guy who did that Mandela
(He looks like that motherfucker – you know it, look at him)
Yo, schemes can be cool
When Chilla does it, I define it as skill
But you’re an innocent bystander – you gon’ die just tryna be Chill’
You keep callin’ out Chilla Jones, and he won’t even acknowledge you
He’s on a level that you’re tryin’ to reach – why would he bother to?
As far as schemin’, he’s a god to you
You scheme rappers are comical!
Just a bunch of words that barely go together, but you convince them that it’s logical
I’m terrible at schemes, it’s a terrible way to rap
You try to cater to SMACK ‘cause your face is Black
But every time you drop a N-bomb, it’s a racist act
Around SMACK rappers, it’s Black Power wit’ the big pride
But we all know the truth…Bulletz (bullets) is powder on the inside
You act hard in Toronto, God bless your soul
But what happened in the Bay? You were less than bold
I picked you up from the airport, you prepped a role
Soon as you touched down, you turned white: Tecmo Bowl!
Like, “Hi, I’m Karsten, but Bulletz is my rap name
You know, bullets, ‘cause I’m known for more gunplay than Max Payne?”
You rap lame
You use schemes that are hard to catch live, so they forget half
But most of your shit makes very little sense when they reflect back
Organik conjured up this scheme, and I respect that
But it’s your fault when I put 100 bullets through his neck fat!
We’re both punchers, so these fans think our shit’s the same
But we’re in different lanes
I was duckin’ real bullets in 7th grade, while he was playin’ wizard games
I battled on the blocks of the opps, where I live today
I was handin’ out more toe tags than AAA
You make claims without evidence, I use the truth
You make up fake guns, I’m Bullet-proof
You say guns don’t kill people and Bulletz (bullets) do
But what good is a bullet without the tool to shoot?
[Round 1: 100 Bulletz]
I can’t yell, so y’all gotta listen
You only got this match ‘cause you on King of the Dot’s payroll
Every battle, this lil’ midget screamin’ with the same flow
They want me to battle Conceited, Clips…Organik gave me J-Pro
The next time you ask me for a favor, I’mma say no
How’d I end up in this useless battle?
I feel like Vietnam survivors
A waste of time
Our skill levels further apart than Brandy’s eyes are
You’re here because you’re staff!
You think you’re someone fans admire?
You pull strings to get feedback on stage: he’s Jimi Hendrix’s amplifier!
Tell this man retire, or the red dot sing like Pakistani choirs
I been schemin’ to cook you: concentration camp designers
The cannon fired faster than Amanda Bynes’ brand advisor!
Arms out squeezin’ more than Rum Nitty vers’ Danny Myers!
They booked you for the cheap labour, you don’t spit wit’ the best of ‘em
Hopped the border and nobody want him here…typical Mexican
Tell your 75 dirty cousins get back in the car
If I buck the pistol
That’s big rockets aimed at you eses (USA) like Russian missiles
Everything I touch official
You ain’t goin’ close to HAM
Got him thinkin’ it’s a food drive, a bunch of niggas holdin’ cans
Show up at his funeral wit’ the Heckler, roast his fam’
Then give him a couple bucks while he sleepin’ in a box like a homeless man
When Pro active (Proactiv), it’s another mark
You so backwards, I don’t feel safe
You from Oxnard? Go back to the Ox’
He moronic, this amateur Pro real fake
You just food on my meal plate
Shoot yourself…Cheddar Bob
(He look just like Cheddar Bob)
Another dreamer killed by Bulletz (bullets) – shout out to Coretta Scott
You know who I am, J? MJ
Shoot the J from any spot
When I give J the pound, Pro, P.S., you ain’t gettin’ props
You’ll lose money bettin’ Pro lines, these punches never stop
When I whoop niggas, they all left wit’ no rights: Swave Sevah’s pops!
You gettin’ leaned from these bars: they the limbo type
They said, “Bet 100, Bulletz, and you win dough, right?”
You shoulda ducked 100 Bulletz – Innuendo tight
Now you duckin’ 100 bullets in ya window like, “Hit the deck!”
Any disrespect, this kid won’t fight
Act hard, I’ll dock the whole card up like Bingo night
What up, Canada? This my home and I been so nice
Knockin’ niggas out in my own backyard: I’m Kimbo Slice!
[Round 2: J-Pro]
You said I do work for King of the Dot on the West Coast
This sucka is right!
I’ve done more for this company in a year than you’ve done in your life!
And on that Cheddar Bob shit, you really think you split heads?
So I’m gon’ cock it back and just pop this dickhead
In Innuendo, you’re the co-captain
Your leader is a coke addict, plus he has a smoke habit
Remy claims he wrote classics for Yung Ill, but his own career is below-average
And Bonnie’s a pro on both sides of the balls: Bo Jackson!
Y’all know what a “thot” is?
T-H-O-T – “That Hoe Over There” wit’ a fat twat
You’re on a Quest to find love, but Bonnie’s just another Black thot (Thought)!
What you gon’ do, you ho bitch!?
Came to the stage lookin’ like a fuckin’ glow stick!
(What? What’s up!?)
Yo, y’all pretend to be a couple in public – that’s a bad plot
The only time we’ll see Bulletz in Bonnie is when Math finds out she gets ass shots!
Lotta Zay said, “Fuck Innuendo!”
He was fed up wit’ them fools
He got wit’ Team Homi ‘cause they’re better as a crew
Remy preaches nonviolence, QP’s set up wit’ the tool
The only bullets (Bulletz) he ever stripped is a member of his crew
See, I was asked to join Innuendo twice
They said it’s for street punchers like Kimbo Slice
How is that real? None of that info’s right
Y’all wake up every morning tryna get your URL intro right
Like “100 Bulletz – strengths include: reverse punchlines that make no fucking sense”
Fuck your reverse punchlines! That’s Pootie Tang speech
This a slaughterhouse!
Blood everywhere! More Type Os (typos) than a Gucci Mane tweet!
You characters go crazy when he’s droppin’ a rhyme!
But listen to the content back when you watch it online
You’re reactin’ to the idea of his plot and design
But he throws more robotic punches than Optimus Prime
I’m wastin’ Bulletz (bullets) like a mobster movie wit’ a Tommy clip
I’ll put a fork in your grill: Maserati whip!
(What’s up!? That’s my man! That’s my man!)
I’ll put a fork in your grill: Maserati whip
You named yourself after a weapon, but you’ll prob’ly piss
When that gat is (Gattas) kissin’ your cheek on some Bonnie shit!
Bonnie got turned out by Gattas, it’s a damn shame
And Remy couldn’t make it ‘cause he’s got back pain from takin’ more Ds than Smack name!
I’m stylin’! SMDLDLDLDL- THAT name!
Innuendo – in the end, you win dough!?
When does that math change!?
QP’s only bangin’ Innuendo ‘cause he’s goin’ through a glass phase!
I was supposed to battle that piece of shit twice! Fuck him!
You’re using QP’s leftover bars for me, I can’t let it slide by
Two weeks ago, he was on Facebook and threatened to air Bulletz (bullets) out like a drive-by
Then Remy got on his O-Red shit and told him, “Nah, nah!”
What good is 100 Bulletz (bullets) when your clip shorter than Grind Time?
So fuck everybody! I’m goin’ kamikaze
Your schemes are fraudulent, money, and it’s not a Ponzi
Your frame is shaped kinda oddly
I’ll leave three holes in your head and go bowling wit’ your entire body!
I’mma be clownin’ yo’ funny-ass shape all day
Try to Sway, but you don’t got the answers: Kanye
I’ll leave your brain on the side of the ring: Andre
Then walk around wit’ Bulletz (bullets) in a bag: John Wayne!
I’ll put Bulletz in a bag, go out and prey the hunted
Get money clipped, that’s where I’ll place 100
I been (Ben) Frank, it’s the only way to face 100
We need change – I just showed you how to break 100!
[Round 2: 100 Bulletz]
I said, it ain’t Friday the 13th, but Jason’ll die
Around danger, you a stewardess: take off and change on the fly
Jason bigs (Biggs) himself, but he a 4-foot, baby-faced guy
You here to battle rap or audition for Canadian Pie?
Look at your bird chest, them scrawny arms
You practically a kid
You the same size as Illmac…when Illmaculate was six!
You got a sippy cup, a high chair, a napkin for a bib
He tell hoes, “Come back to the crib”…and it’s actually a crib!
On cam’, I’ll clutch the W, my wordplay on its own level
100 Bulletz a known devil
You’ll get a pallbearer, Undertaker, and Tombstone if me and Pro wrestle
Slow it down, speed it up, ain’t no tellin’ how it might go
Make your choice, Pro: it’s shin or ab
That’s life, Pro
Reverse that – I’m takin’ Pro life
That’s ab or shin: it’s Pro choice
Speed it up! I’m takin’ pro-life
That’s abortion: it’s pro-choice!
Check the footage, toe-to-toe, I leave ‘em all wit’ a tag
He said Aftershock was gay – who Jason callin’ a fag?
Reserve a center for the Hawk, maybe revolver or mag’
When the pair is (Paris) around, this little Mexican dog in a bag!
I went from JC to J-Pro – someone get me a noose
Rob Ford smoke crack rocks bigger than you
It’s 50 Tyson vers’ 50 Tysons
This ain’t a rapper you should offer
I’ll drop him now!
Regulate, Nate Dogg: the hooks proper!
Knock him down, you’ll look up to a Shotgun like Suge’s daughter!
Pop a round 24/7: that’s a good father!
JC, J-Pro, none of them rappers impressed
The last two Js I crossed got smoked: Pineapple Express!
Wit’ yo’ bars, I’m like, “Nah…I don’t kick it wit’ J”
But I’mma find where your girl at while I’m grippin’ the K
And it’s gettin’ real disrespectful like when this spit in her face
Nah, I said it’s gettin’ real disrespectful like when Diz’ spit in Eurgh face
[Round 3: J-Pro]
You talked about my girl – she’s a dime piece wit’ her Master’s degree
Your wife looks like Bob Backlund, mine is bad as can be
You’re a part-time dad and a battle MC
Who jacks off to Bonnie Godiva selfies and SMACK DVDs
She wins at life!
At Blackout 3, your wife must’ve hated the shit
Like, “Karsten, aren’t you gonna play with your kids?”
“I can’t, babe. I’m gettin’ ready for this melee with Rich
Then I gotta go make copies of these PayPal statements for Diz’”
Reverse that – you made copies and showed up wit’ a backpack to expose ‘Cane?
You’re so lame
He beat you at your own game, so you hopped on Dizzy’s sack like Coltrane
You’re basically Diz’s secretary, you’re a no-name with no shame
How the fuck do you share lines wit’ QP, but couldn’t hold ‘Cane (‘caine)?
And Charron told your lil’ secret to the squad when they were back tourin’
How you post on aliases on hip-hop message boards every damn mornin’
You talk shit about the staff on ‘em, and then you act foreign?
Well, just like those message boards you post on, it’s a wrap for him (rap forum)
You’re a new troll!
Can’t go forward or back up now: you’re in neu-tral!
Tryna get on Chill’ level, but it’s too cold
I use flow to stretch Bulletz (bullets) like Manute Bol!
I’m an OG, old beast, you’re obese
You pop off, Bulletz, but never hold heat
This must be how Washington felt about their home team
When they realized the Bulletz (Bullets) is no longer in a Pro’s league!
I’ll toss your lifeless body in an ocean or lake
They’ll have to snatch Bulletz (bullets) from the rivers like Antonio Gates
I don’t have to hear your album to know that it’s fake
Bishop executive-produced it, and he’s homies wit’ Drake
If you were worth the investment, they’d have opened the bank
Instead, you’re spammin’ social networks promotin’ your tape
There’s a difference between spam and promotion
Somebody get him a helper
‘Cause I been blockin’ more link attacks than The Legend of Zelda
Like “@SMACKWHITE @Beasley Retweet my album, dawg!
Here’s a track called ‘My Whole Life’. It’s a family song”
Ayo, Bishop, you’ve got him managed wrong
There’s no way to light the fuse of this cannonball
I got a URL wit’ a bad link – you’re even spammin’ wrong
That’s why your album is sellin’ for 71 cents on Amazon!
Have y’all heard this fucker rap on a beat!?
Fuck 100 Bulletz! I’ve got enough ammo to last for a week
He tries so hard to sound gangsta
To me, this fool sounds whiter than the gap in my teeth
So I came to tell you your music fuckin’ sucks to your face
Your beats are just like QP: they’re always in need of more bass (base)
So put your money on him, you won’t cover the bet
Double your debt
If you give Bulletz (bullets) a round: that’s Russian Roulette
Reverse that – Russian Roulette around Bulletz give him one to the head!
[Round 3: 100 Bulletz]
Alright, look, I beat three King of the Dot champs
From Ground Zero, earned my tribal scars
This right here is what happens when you let battle forums decide your stars
But I see what niggas gotta do to get good matches from the guy in charge
Drench themselves in Daylyt’s ball sweat and start buyin’ bars
But I got dope lines: cocaine
They blow your mind: Cobain
What you brought this Black out to Blackout for?
To black out for a no-name!?
Da Don got niggas doin’ the Running Man: Soul Train
I heard at his pad, he around beef, I ain’t playin’ no games
Herd, patty, round beef, I stay cookin’, the fo’ flame
You gassed? Heat ya grill
Big cans bringin’ Pro pain (propane)!
You studyin’ law? Don’t take the stand
Tryna pass the bar like he legit
Beatin’ the rap ain’t probable cause
You give him a tourney try, I’ll weave wit’ it
That counter suit ya good, after a cross examine your teeth and lips!
Better hope the league’ll aid or the silencer make him plead the fif’!
You ain’t half as good! A third, a fraction
You clashin’ wit’ a word assassin!
Off wit’ his head’s my first reaction!
This comic dead: I’ll Bernie Mac him!
Cease and desist, no further actions
Or you deceased and this is where the murder happens!
Burner clappin’, 100 bullets, 50 sent: no Curtis Jackson!
This my new hobby, since Dexter Morgan’s finished
I kill people who deserve it, but more sadistic
I’m morbid, twisted, contorted, twisted
Morphin’ critics to a corpse’s image
Push forward limits, the Earth gravitational force and flip it, ignorin’ physics
I’m more horrific than Chuck Norris kickin’ this disproportioned midget ‘til his organs splittin’!
I’m morbid, gifted, contorted, vicious
Morals shifted, the Lord’s my witness
I eat kids like alley cats that live behind abortion clinics!
In my lifetime, there’s no reasonable doubt
The hard knocks, I wouldn’t take it back
To me, it’s all a gift and a curse, but a dynasty’s what I’m aimin’ at
So I’ll send this American gangster to Kingdom Come
The Holy Grail, pray to that
Or just watch the throne ‘cause this the blueprint that’ll make J fade to black!
That’s 3-zip! #BodyBag – Retweet!
A Mexican in my house? It’s guaranteed to be a clean sweep
And I hope Jason brought his lil’ mask and a bulletproof hoodie, too
‘Cause they was right: guns don’t kill people…(Bulletz do!)
This was light! Light!
Get me real opponents and I’ll start writin’!
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