Math Hoffa vs. Chilla Jones [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Math Hoffa]

Math Hoffa versus Chilla Jones, mmph!
This shit like Mayweather/Pacquiao
Sike, this shit is like a brick of dope versus a Black & Mild
Your rapping style…
By the second round, I’m tapping out
Your bars respected, but you’re the cause of many narcoleptics
Pause a second, yo, Eurgh
I ain’t gon’ come for you
But you really booked me to battle T Top, and that was wonderful
Until a couple dudes from a league pulled a sucker move
And told T Top if he did, we ain’t gon’ fuck with you
Now Eurgh needed somebody cheap, that’s why I’m stuck with you
Last time I had to write for a Jones, it got uncomfortable
My pen’ll bag whoever you book, it’s like I’m up in school
Cause even back then, I had no respect for a substitute
Yo, your bars don’t make you lovable
It’s clear, you a Huxtable
I guess they threw this bitch on a bill to get a couple views
I ain’t come to fight, but these punches still gon’ be crushing you
Try, not even Plies’ll give this “pwussy” the W
But the way you jumped in for T-Top, I can’t front, it kind of took me back
To years ago, in a fight club, I had a rookie match
I met this chick named Cookie, I said, “let’s boogie”
That’s when she took me at her house, but when I tried to get mouth
The bitch pushed me back, then when I was dicking her out
I had to stop, she had a bushy snatch
Guess y’all ain’t figure it out
No Top, and this pussy’s wack
Y’all know I hate Scrabble, I got that feeling again, nigga
But something about that mary made me write for this Ben Stiller
You ain’t ’bout that life, you ain’t been where I been, Chilla
Forget who the F you are, and that’s your chin, Chilla
Cold, this shit is a breeze, I feel a wind, Chilla
Nigga tried to tell me how crazy your pen is
And to me, that shit is crazy, it kind of made me offended
Cause if you wrote this nigga’s rhymes on a page and reread it
It wouldn’t make no fucking sense without the way that he stretches
Like when you said… man, fuck that, I ain’t quoting niggas
If stretching is the shit that you like, go do some yoga, nigga
If battle rap would rather be real, I’d be the dopest nigga
Cause I really came from the hood and where the dope is, nigga
We walk with [?], I ain’t choking, nigga
But play lowkey, cause my son got the hammer, I’m playing Odin, nigga
In any account, I get the steel, it’s like I’m [?] niggas
Have Jones’ insides blew out, that’s Osmosis, nigga
It’s been a couple months, but I feel like I ain’t go in years
I want to give y’all classics, but it’s like all my peers are frozen scared
I did this for my fans, cause me and Chilla, yeah, I know, it’s weird
I’m like D. Rose, I shouldn’t be playing with these lower tiers

[Round 1: Chilla Jones]

Right now, I’m like finally, Hoffa wrote rhymes for me
We could’ve did this last spring, but you took Red instead
And said you ain’t have time for me
I mean, y’all came to see punchlines, right? Not punches
Math still gotta end violently
He be like, “you ain’t got bars like that”
Well, guess what, that don’t apply to me
So what are you tryna be?
A battle legend? A trailblazer?
Then you gon’ win with that real flavor
That they’ll savor cause you sell major
Yeah, you probably who they’ll favor
But last year, I faced more pens than Hellraiser
With the flame, his back would get burned like L blazers
Then the chrome outside of your dome like tailgaters
So he think y’all don’t care if I grip that mic
Versus a nigga that live that life, did I get that right?
What good is street cred if you can’t spit that tight?
You’re broken off with four bars, you the Kit Kat type
But you gon’ tell ’em I don’t lift that pipe
That’s time-wasting, Math
You gon’ diss the way that I rap, but they embrace it, Math
Being street don’t take talent, you gotta face it, Math
Plus, in addition, your whole division is basic, Math
Everything that you say is trash, that’s a problem my era solved
Listen to your rounds, that’s a problem the ear’ll solve
Try to air us all, [?], to get that Aerosol
We spray like Aerosol till the tension in the air resolve
My squad ready for war with the TECs they keep
If you sneeze or even take the wrong breath, they squeeze
When that cannon flash, just say, cheese
And Cortez gon’ have your face on a shirt by the next day, see
But think about those last bars, for trying to test a G
Boy, all you gon’ see is Math on that ese T
See, this a nerd versus a bully whose raps is savage
With the pen, I gotta school him, make this match a classic
So I came with creative writing, plus drastic tactics
You gon’ be history, stepping in my path was tragic
I catch him by all the G’s, bring his ass to static
But should I hit him with the Jim, or give Math the matics?
The fact is, even the bars I call average mean
What you think mean… average
Your bars is average mean
I mean, you in comedian mode, you have to last the seams
Wait, mean, median, mode, that’s a scheme
Straps with beams, pistol got a fully loaded clip in it
That’s 12 plus one in the head, like arithmetic
Shit, I ain’t the [?] guy
But I could have three point one 4, that’s easy as pie
Yeah, you survived the motherfuckers that tried to sound like me
But you ain’t never stood in front of three rounds like these

[Round 2: Math Hoffa]

Right now, Chilla’s like, finally, daddy’s spending time with me
But I think we all should spend some time with our fathers
So bow your heads and close your eyes with me
Heavenly Father, please get me back on URL!
Cause I don’t know what to do, god
I figured after Summer Madness, Smack, Beas’, and my dude Norbes
Would’ve cooled off, I promised Eurgh I won’t skip any verses
I’ma just do what I do, bars
And next time I hear that “woo”, I’ma listen to you, god
Now QueenzFlip should get fired, and you should get hired soon
Cause every league you battle on, you turn it to the Quiet Room
Real niggas don’t ride with you, talking about you spraying the crome
Kill that shit, lame, you Trinidad James, you just a fake, Jerome
Like you tell niggas you scheming, that mean you rhyming shit for ’em
If I tell niggas I’m scheming, that means go inside, it’s a warning
Cats who lit up just got high, this how you fire shit for ’em
The cats I lit up in the sky like they heard Lionel callin’
This where I break you down
I’ma take what the people prefer as your favorite quality
And turn it to a weakness, observe, it bothers me
The way you like to scheme is for herbs
You look for double meanings, cause you never meaning your words
Like picture Chilla in [?] with some G’s in the trap
And he come through and say, “keep bubbling coke, I’ma squeeze on they cap”
Them niggas’ll grab they ratchets, like, “what’s up, shorty?” Like some G’s will react
And Chilla’ll be like, “no, no, no, no, chill out, fellas, y’all need to relax
I mean, if you keep bubbling coke, you gotta squeeze on the cap
I was just looking out, I didn’t want the two-liter to get flat
It’s just a scheme, I swear to god, I didn’t mean it like that!”
This PG don’t got a shot, so we gon’ see him pass
My goal’s to leave you purple when I beat yo ass
You bring up Cort’? I give you ten, hope your sneakers fast
Cause I’ll burn him, and give my nigga Eurgh a heap of ash
“Eurgh” and “ash”? That’s Nash!

[Round 2: Chilla Jones]

So what you got against my battle with JC?
Is it the fact that it’s a classic Smack battle?
I mean, all you offer the culture is “real rap”
When y’all want bars, he just be rapping facts at you
I mean, this gon’ be a serious disaster
Speaking of which, they both had this cat rattled
But congrats, Math, shit, I mean, it’s the first time you had punches in back-to-back battles
But let me ask you, cause there’s this interview online
And, I mean, I don’t remember the time, but y’all was mentioning the names in battle rap
And brought mine up, you said, if a victim was picking niggas out a line-up
And I was in it, well, behind bars ain’t where I would wind up
Okay, fine, but all that show me is that you blinded, nigga
A small-minded, misguided nigga, so let me get this right
You would actually take pride standing in a line of niggas
And doing time cause you the one that look like a crime committer?
I mean, I’m trying to figure this out, this mindset in black males is typical
You worried ’bout looking real, that’s something I feel is pitiful
Cause what’s real about your kids going to jail to visit you?
And birthdays and holidays pass, but you still invisible?
Shit’s despicable, I couldn’t even leave it alone
As a father, how is this something you can even condone?
See, I’m a father, and that’s what got me so upset
Cause how you supposed to raise your kids when you ain’t grown up yet?
That’s why your face got a scratch like that
You got enemies, that’s why you stay strapped like that
C’mon, Math, you broad? Rick Ross almost got clapped like that
C’mon, Math, you broad? Rick, Matthew Broderick, bitch, act like that!
See, this is rap, they give a fuck about your beef or a fucking war
They wanna have you spilling Pac Juice when they bust your core
But I was by the door, standing there, Ness Lee
I said, he need more than that street shit to impress me
He said, what if he punch you? Well, I said, why would he test me?
That’s ridiculous, Ness who’ll get robbed if he dare deck me, respect me
I said, I respect you, you ain’t gon’ violate me like I’m without rights
But let me get this out right, I’m no one you can outwrite
See, they think you gon’ swing and knock me out, right?
Cause they know you ain’t winning outright without rights
I’m nice, and you ain’t got bars like that
All you got is nice hooks, they would think you Bruno Mars like that
See, you getting killed, because you worried about that tough guy Surf
You should’ve took a page out of Bonnie book and dumped my verse

[Round 3: Math Hoffa]

Yo, sing along if you know the words
Many men wish death upon me
Blood in my eyes, dawg, and I can’t see
I’m trying to be what I’m destined to be
And niggas trying to take my life away
Yo, when I first heard that song, I had that shit stuck on repeat
I [?] could spit this real shit, this stuff is unique
In battle rap, I’m like 50, I rose up from the street
Supported a disloyal gang that made its money from beef
My last battle got ugly, y’all saw the sucker shit, B
Five niggas versus one, that ain’t a jump, it’s a leap
I got the typical Dizaster, he the same as a [?]
Wasting time with his setup, then his punches is weak
Swear to god, at night, I dream about my gun on his cheek
[?] grief, too tired of crying, but too troubled to sleep
Last time she saw Bachir, he said, “I love you”, and peace
And the next time, he was [?], bodies cut up in three
I really want to know the public’s belief
Y’all think it’s karma or a bitch nigga trying to front with his peeps?
How many of y’all think he would’ve threw that punch in the east?
Exactly, son would never disrespect
So to take my shine, son set it in the west
Fuck Krack City!
With one sharp weapon, I would’ve [?]
Gave the whole city stitches, like the [?]
Y’all thought I was suing King of the Dot
I just threatened them for a check
That bread was going right on Diz head to get him stretched
But that’s why they hate me, because I be telling this shit correct
Niggas spit mad ill, but still jealous, cause I’m direct
Chilla, you a body, nigga
It’s a shame I gotta do this, but I ain’t sorry, nigga
This what happens when you poke out your chest in front of Bobby Fischer
Fronting like you about to go to work, yous a Tommy nigga
They gon’ pull you out under covers, yous a Donnie nigga
The way you be all friendly in battles, you using molly, nigga?
Inside you mad you ain’t fucking with me, yous a Bonnie nigga
I’m like a fitness trainer to frauds, cause I pull up, wait, spot you, and let it go like yous a bodybuilder
Fuck you mean? Like Hollow said, I’m gon’ hate you till I’m seventy-five
I get them clean shots up close, 7D five
He see the steel, start to feel like he ready to cry
But my gun so big, it make you ready to die
Damn, see, a line like that’ll wake Biggie up
Make him light a Philly blunt and go, “Huh! that was really tough!”
BK, you know how we play, we keep the blicky tucked
You [?], bust at the D’s, it ain’t a tittyfuck
What’s really up? You know I’m godly with lyrics
You talk words but don’t do ’em, go decide on your image
That heater blast, it’s like eating ass, he probably don’t get it
A pussy get wet, but I ain’t gon’ tell nobody I did it
Like I said, man, it’s been a couple months, but it feels like I ain’t go in years
I want to give y’all classics, but all my peers are frozen scared
I did this for my fans, cause me and Chilla, yeah, I know, it’s weird
I’m like D. Rose, I shouldn’t be playing with these lower tiers

[Round 3: Chilla Jones]

This just in
If y’all ain’t know, this Justin
The first was for Math, the last two was to diss Justin
Rounds like this just tend to hit harder, so let’s get started
What happened with Diz, Justin? Let’s jump in
He said I should punch you in your face
You started talking hard, dropped your guard
Turned the other cheek, and let him rock your jaw
I was in the crowd when it happened; I was shocked and all
I started popping off, then Dizaster’s crew got involved
But, now you got a lawsuit?
Saying King of the Dot is unprofessional like your injuries were their fault?
So how the fuck is this stuff respectable?
And to this day, y’all still put him up on this fucking pedestal
Like Justin credible, but to me, it’s just incredible?
My question to the crowd… is this how real niggas behave?
How the fuck you suing niggas with the reputation he made?
But let’s keep pace, and talk about how your ex, Bonnie, knew Drake
He hit her online, and asked her out on a true date
To sip wine, have some good convo, chew steak
She told you, watched you hate, and made you lose faith
You told her she better not, or you would catch a new case
So she [?], waited for you to leave, and packed her suitcase
You came home, found a piece of paper on your food plate
It was a note that said, “if you’re reading this, it’s too late”
Is you that insecure? That ain’t a good look, Hoffa
You was out of town, having niggas from your hood watch her
But if you used that wood proper like you should, partner
Bonnie would’ve came straight back like good posture
But you lost her, she moved out, hoping another guy wife her
You got evicted, your future was in a shelter like Mekhi Phifer
Your new chick want to be Bonnie, but ain’t fly like her
Shawty’s just a plain jump-off; that’s a skydiver
But hype up your pain, say you getting more than me
For the same reason those situations ended horribly
It’s cause you feel a immaturity and insecurity
Looking like you should have a job in security
And currently, you’ve been running around badmouthing ’em
Quit talking about about your ex, why? This ain’t algebra, I’m bounded, bruh
You really got a nerve calling me sweet
Y’all ever seen Math versus Day? Well, if not, here’s a sneak peek
When you was rapping, shit, Daylyt was at your feet, sleep
When he was rapping, he was pouring water on your cheap sneaks
When I battled Davone Campbell, we gave the streets heat
The shit was epic, ask Method Man if he agrees, G
Imagine Batman and Superman having beef, peep
My wordplay made the world marvel versus D.C
See, you remind me of that one old man that’s so cynical
Recalling everything from his era that’s so memorable
Like, “when I came up, it was all about being original, and if you made threats, you had to be ready to get physical”
Typical grandfather shit, old man Math, stuck in his old ways
Saying my generation lacking respect for the old days
Cause now in battle rap, we got hybrids and flying cars, times evolved, advancing the whole page
And here he go, still talking about inventing the wheel in the Stone Age
Okay, you probably that old man that fall asleep on the train and wake up at the last stop
He put his face close to the screen and type with one finger on his laptop
It’s like you so old on them bag blocks, you ain’t sell crack rocks, you sold cracked rocks
You probably sit in rocking chairs with brown sandals and black socks
But here’s where the act stops, cause the same style I’m using now
The same style Math had for years that got him losing ground
You don’t got bars like that, that’s why you losing now
Against Mr. Jump to Top Tier from the Proving Grounds

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