Bigg K vs. Danny Myers [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Danny Myers]
First of all, I don’t wanna hear shit ’bout how you gon’ clap me
You and Pharrell both rep Virginia, apparently everybody’s Happy
But not here, on every block you can find two bodies or more of them
This sickness gon’ kill this white boy with punches, you the new Tommy Morrison
My origins are from the city where they shave coke
You named yourself after the soda company Big K, y’all both sellin’ fake Coke
I battle white people everyday, racism is silly
We ain’t sell them cops no headphones but they still give us the billy
Bar God!
My aim is good but that ray cooler
Die may (diamond) this ring will cross on ya chest I’m K(ay) Jeweler
You talk about hood life in yo’ bars, that angle is clever
But if I wanted to hear the Real Deal from a white boy I would’ve battled Trevor
One phone call and everybody on yo’ squad dies
It’s like my wardrobe is all Italian suits, all I got is mob ties
We rob guys, beat bows out of niggas if my cast be raised
They’ll have to pick yo’ collar up like the Fonz on Happy Days
If you don’t want me to fire outta the hole, don’t throw a football in the ring
In other words, don’t let this spiral out of control
Yo’ girl head game is crazy, her throat was the bomb
The bitch be stealin’ all of my kids like [?]
This a punch out, all bars, you must be lookin’ for death
Power punches like Little Mac when you punchin’ Select
You an addict, how do I know?
Cause at the last King Of The Dot Vendetta you was in the crowd lookin’ for Meth’
If I rob you, don’t move, just give me yo’ stacks and yo’ bomb
There’s no need for you to die (dye) like a natural blond
If you move to L.A., you wouldn’t come to the hood
You couldn’t weather these kills
I bet you nine O’s to one O (90210) you’d move to Beverly Hills
You can’t compare to these skills, we gon’ test you a certain way
We gon’ catch you at a convenience store, all my niggas circle K
Lush, I ain’t fightin’ this big ass white boy, I’m lettin’ off five shells at least
Then hide the metal like Roswell debris
Blaow! When that lead blam, you a motherfuckin’ dead man
These pistols are all for K (4K) like a red cam’
I spit rhymes from the dome
To prepare for this battle I watch 12 Years A Slave, six times in a row
Took that out put in Roots, put in Amistad
So many niggas [?] you gon’ think you at Comic Con
Battle rap phenomenon, with weapons to kill
You ain’t gotta watch a movie to know Heaven Is Real
You battlin’ me, Big Kannon, B-Magic, these are legends to follow
You ’bout to die everyday like The Edge Of Tomorrow
Spend a day with my homies, they life is realer
King Of The Dot keep bookin’ me cause they like a killer
I stuff my dick down yo’ bitch throat
I said, “Who is yo’ man?”
She could only say, “Mmm K” (MK) like Daylyt and Chilla
I’ma [?] nine miller til you on the ground with this shit
This wack MC got a whole ‘nother two rounds of this shit

[Round 1: Bigg K]
I’m ’bout to school Daniel-san on some Miyagi shit
You ain’t never been up close and seen a shotty spit
I came in here to body shit
You kicked yo’ shoes off, you ’bout to throw a karate kick
And after that I will show you the way to flow
You said if I moved to L.A. I wouldn’t be in the hood
But I was in Jordan Down’s two days ago
But fuck what he bang them silly hand gestures
My range wit’ a shotgun like Willy Manchester
Crib laid came wit’ a maid, a Fran Drescher
Flyin’ spur, poppin’ the clutch; Van Exel
Danny I’m nicer than your whole camp
And I get saluted by every shooter we know champ
Breakin’ down a brick of that {sniff sniff} with no stamp
Let a fiend test it he told me he caught a nose cramp
Yo’ punch is weak, Danny all Bonaduce
And you look like a Goomba from the Mario movie
Sawed off and an Uzi, knock the walls off of ya hooptie
I’m retarded wit’ a gun; Officer Doofy
What you know about a five in a four man wit’ yo’ wack ass?
Lock down, cookin’ soup wit’ cold water and trash bags
Pussy I’ll snap ya whole back in half like a cracked crab
Clip full, black flag, Pitbull, black labs
Slam him through a gravel road, push him in the gutter
That’s for gettin’ fly out ya mouth, you little battle toad lookin’ motherfucker
KG called you Daniel Day, let me add some shit
In a butcher shop with a cow tongue, you couldn’t rap a lick
I give my shooter the address to ya pissy buildin’
Every pussy gettin’ waxed, leave the strip Brazilian
Thuggin’ wit’ no rules, strays hit civilians
I’m in and out of mask like Kid Chameleon
A chopper round knock ya man out his Speedos
Trigger finger lickin’ like I had a hand full of Cheetos
But think of an actor in Congress when I land me a trio
How these rights check the bill of his hat then the left give Danny the veto (DeVito)
I ran the streets, dark tint tan Capris
Makin’ drops with fifty blocks big as camel teeth
Who test me? Get Handcocked slammed to sleep
UFC Shamrock if Dan a beast
I flew all the way to the east just to mush ya pride
Spend a day at Venice Beach, smoke some kush than slide
But don’t get ya neck broken cause if I pushed the ride
I’ll crack ya fuckin’ head open and lock inside

[Round 2: Danny Myers]
I give y’all punch after punch, they crown me as a sports leader
Meanwhile he relies on hay makers like horse feeders
I’ll chase this buster through his hood, he get his dash on I get my blast on
He look back at the pump like he forgot the number he gettin’ gas on
Mask on, black gloves, black boots with a black pistol
Turn him to an angel, put his wings in the sky like the Bat signal
A rap sicko, armed with a turret, it’s just sort of my M.O
A thousand rounds spit for the length of four songs like it’s recordin’ a demo
This that scene from Full Metal Jacket, Gomer Pyle thinks he hard
White boy was sleepin’ then got his ass beat with bars
I’ll make you kneel in front yo’ football trophies
Before general peel ya, it’ll be memorable to put ya memory on ya memorabilia
I’m realer, get yo’ bones broke and ya bitch likes long strokes
On top of that she got a known throat like Tone Loc
We grown folks, so if you don’t got my bread then it’s on Loc
The last nigga that owe me got pistol whipped until the chrome broke
I’m blowin’ toast, keep fuckin’ wit’ me and them triggers squeeze
Them pistols have the scene smokey like when a ninja leave
I’m ’bout to make this clown a spectacle, a disgrace a joke
When I rap, shut the fuck up and start takin’ notes
You prolly chasin’ broke, you should jump off a bridge and see if ya neck can break the rope
I was bred from gang life, my uncle gave me a mag [?]
The gun was like Lisa Leslie on her period, rag on a handle
Real shit, my bars started hurtin’ my eyes
At age 12 I was on the news for local dirt on the rise
We was out late night tryin’ to blow those toasters at guys
Then tryin’ to clean the house before the social workers arrive
I got the crook factor
You got the type of bitch you gotta look after
I slam her after she licks the head like the Bushwhackers
I push rappers to they limits, you gotta be in the zone nigga
I made Charlie Clips spit his best bars over the phone nigga
So what’s crackin’ K? I’m a nigga that prevails literature
You can be Mayweather with them punches, they don’t land on Pernell Whitaker
I smell vinegar, I’m ’bout to tie this pussy up
If you wanna know about the god of writing then look me up
I’ma get mine, big nine, shoot you from your roof about six times
Throw the pistol then escape to ya neighbor’s roof on a zipline
I go there, the reason these other niggas flow scared
It’s cause a west coast nigga took over battle rap from outta nowhere
If my paper low, I know how to give that money all back nigga
This machine transfer paper from you to me, all facts (fax) nigga
Hoes sweat me, me get around ya bitches? Don’t let me
You’ll see me with a bottle and two of your exes (X’s) like Does Equis
Just look at the fuckin’ mess you made
Before I shoot, I’ll scratch the serial off this .38 Special K
Wait, cereal? Special K?
Fuck it, you on the ground with this shit
This wack MC got ‘nother round of this shit

[Round 2: Bigg K]
I don’t care if you wit’ seven homies don’t test me
That’s 8 Heads In A Duffel Bag; Joe Pesci
I said you rap like you thuggin’, but when the police cuff him it’s so messy
Tell on his whole neighborhood for a cigarette and a cold Pepsi
I can find five reaches in one of Danny’s rounds
I’m talkin’ shit that don’t fit like hand me downs
Danny get smacked wit’ a hammer, I swing the handle ’round
Pistol whip him and split his teeth, now he Danny Brown
I said you was dead as soon as they paid the loot
I came to punch a mic (Mike) around like Trae The Truth
Twin shotguns when I raid the stoop
Two pumps in the air; raise the roof
What you know about road trippin’, thinkin’ we be lifers
Interstate 3AM when them D’s behind ya
Outta town you loaded down in that wiki Chrystler
That killer in the trunk like the DC Sniper
I say you rap it I live it, I’m in the trap with my pivot
With that thang that put his brain through the back of his fitted
I heard Danny be smokin’ dust gettin’ wet a lot
I smack him on the water like a belly flop
I’m on a fetty op’, hand to hand sales, Desi cocked, heavy block
Where Danny can’t dwell
Break a bottle and poke him with a broken Amstel
Pull the bitch out him when Dan yell that’s Danielle
I said get right faggot this battle rappin’, I’m nice at it
No fade, you catch an eight inch blade in ya sciatic
My knife tactics make skin bubble like flight jackets
Type savage, think a bear bite on a white rabbit
They matched a backyard brawler with a prize fighter
I mark shit out like a highlighter
Silencer on the MAC sound like a typewriter
Full clip, light up ya whip it ain’t Nightrider

[Round 3: Danny Myers]
Let me find out you a snitch homie, you’ll get dropped in the field
If Bigg K’s smart he knows I’ll (aisle) mop if he spills
I could’ve approached this battle several ways
A great bunch of tactics, but why take angles when you can straight punch a faggot
It’s clearly the negativity
I’ll shoot ya mom, dad, uncle, cousin, aunt that’s my theory of relativity
In Cali, nigga it’s crazy here, feel like we back in the 80’s here
Fiends smoke rocks to straighten out they edges like baby hair
These whores, they for gays, in war we bang a flame
They say the more things change the more they the same
My nigga Jesus addicted to heron
He got a tattoo of a cross that’s where he shot up but he never took the Lord’s name in vain (vein)
You got a stash house of bricks yo’ dawgs can hustle?
First we fill the van of white then spin K like we tryin’ to solve a puzzle
You love dat bitch, but I’m tellin you, that broad is trouble
She don’t want me surrounded by helmets like she called a huddle
I’ll blow big holes in this big bitch, then I’m lookin’ for the next contender
I touched that nine, tre and twelve, I had to register as a sex offender
I’m disrespectful, I’m on ya couch, that bitch blowin’ me down
You walk in, ya boppin’ socks like Homie Da Clown
I was broke, I’m like a seizure, my nigga was holdin’ me down
His stash, abandoned dogs, so many pounds
So how the fuck you talkin’ ’bout work, I’m talkin’ to a worker
My hustle was computer components, you talkin’ to the server
There’s a difference between a white boy talkin’ that real nigga shit
And a real nigga talkin’ that real nigga shit
Homie deal wit’ this shit
Come to my block and try to make a sale
Ain’t no Love And (in) Hip Hop I should call you Bigg K Michelle
I started with an eighth for sale, them nicks be part of my grind but
Like an Afro with an edge up, they wanted to pick me out of a line up
I’m sure you get plenty bitches, that’s cause you a trick and they know you lame
This fighting Irish will put a bitch through college that don’t even know the dame (Notre Dame)
I need y’all to keep it real wit’ me for a second
By a show of hands, reach up, how many of you have looked at the word “Virginia” and mistaken it for “vagina” at least once
Exactly, you from a pussy state
I should gut you and rip upwards causing you more damage
I would show you I’m King Of The Dot but this knife feels Organik
Organs [?], white blood cells spill onto my belt buckle
Death grips you unlike anything you ever felt touch you
You said you don’t give a fuck about battle rap
You just do it for a check faggot
That mean you sold everybody that paid to see you no respect faggot
And this the shit y’all cheer for? I should throw slugs at yo’ heart
Picasso couldn’t have been a good painter if he had no love for the art
I bleed this shit, I represent rap til it’s through
I put together my first rhymes using Alphabet Soup
You a leech, using the culture, you exemplify that
What makes it worse, you get paid off somethin’ invented by black
So fuck you, bitch ass white boy on the ground wit’ this shit
Nigga lucky he ain’t got another round of this shit

[Round 3: Bigg K]
I heard you say you got ten kids

[Danny Myers]

[Bigg K]
I salute you, that’s G shit
It must be hard havin’ ten kids and you know not one gon’ be shit
Cause they dad 35 years old in the Proving Grounds, eat dick
Left yo’ family shorthanded like DJ Paul from Three 6
This is a gift, what you don’t wanna get paid from it?
You don’t feel like you paid ya dues?
It never occurred to yo’ dumb ass to tell them, “Yo, pay me too”?
Nah, you want the fame and views and in yo’ mind that’s okay with dude
Comin’ to events smellin’ like diapers and baby puke
And where the fuck is you from? South Central or Las Vegas?
You rep each when it’s convenient, I see it that’s fraud flagrant
Another battle you was reppin’ Michigan if we backtrack
Then vs KG you don’ moved to New York with $200 in ya backpack
Well here’s my shit on the situation and this is only fact
You got ten kids, $200 and a backpack you was smokin’ crack
I just bought a new chopper wit’ a shoulder strap
I’m ’bout to put a body on it like a yoga mat
Hold a rack, ya style? This is how I define it
Back to back punches with no power behind it
These show stoppers thought he was barrin’ til he heard mine
You ain’t gotta throw ’em back to back
Just hit ’em hard enough the first time
Like an ice pick out the freezer, the type of shit I’m on
Get sewed up from a cold cut like Jimmy Johns
You ain’t never been masked down wit’ a pistol palmed
Shorty jokin’ that .40 smokin’ like Stiffer mom
I got a monster in the pocket like Digimon
You would rather pick a fight with a prison mob
I put a stick in ya grill like a shish kabob
Face shot, knock his head off like Ichabod
This a prime example of this crowd bein’ dick blowers
He said, “I’ll put a bitch through college and I didn’t know her.”
How the fuck I’ma put her through college if I didn’t know her?!
Fuck type of shit is that man?
You at home wit’ ya bitch watchin’ soap operas
I’m uptown negotiatin’ with the coke shoppers
MAC-10’s, SK’s, both choppers
Right hooks, left hook, show stoppers!

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