Fresco vs. The Saurus [Lyrics]

[Round 1: The Saurus]
Fuck a coin flip, I’ll be first to let it pop
This footage? Like my left hand: worth a second watch
That’s two-timing if you don’t follow
Kill ‘em all, nobodies to role models
You don’t gotta do numbers to see the hands like Movado
You know I’mma tell him how it is, and then I’mma show ya
Just to back up my point like Dellavedova
I’m a machine. You ain’t think shit could get any colder?
I’ll dump a can if he press my buttons: get him a soda!
Bitch, I met every quota, gave proof that I’m Jesús
Always brought the most weight to home plate: boy I’m Babe Ruth
Since he Italian and I’m Greek, they place us in the same group
But I was raised Lebanese: always stuck to my Bay roots!
It’s true, I’m Isaac Mendez: that pen stroke deadly
Mariah Carey: you ain’t think it would get so heavy
I got that fresh toast ready for him and Miss Coletti
Like I’m bout to be the best man at Fresco’s wedding
If you squeamish, y’all should turn away your heads
‘Cause Papa Shango’s back here with a curse to raise the dead
Once you work away your debts, I’ll be first to take his bread
Tell him break off that paper like a perforated edge!
I’m a loan shark, no sarcasm
You’ll need sonar tracking ‘cause I’m so far past him
I’m composing Mozart classics, so don’t start acting
Like we in the same boat; I’m the coast guard captain
What happened though? I thought that you was going places
Must have had a change of heart like Smokin’ Aces
Shit I don’t even believe in when he say what race he is
‘cause these facial features say Enrique Iglesias
But that there? That ain’t even a racial bar actually
It’s more alluding to why we think you’re a mark, Anthony
So stop posting about being a men’s rights activist
Or you ain’t welcome back in the Westside after this

[Round 1: Fresco]
I give a fuck about the battle rap trivia and how much ammo you got
You can’t rap the way I’m rapping if you haven’t been shot
But until I get a signed letter from 2Pac where he asks me to stop
I’ma keep pulling this shit like I’m practicing slots
See I don’t battle a lot, but if the conditions just right, I’m completely airing
And you might be rolling with Organik, to a decent area
Til his expression goes blank (“Round One”), like he’s the narrator
And I pop up for the scrap like a secret character
Flawless what I call this, all I took is a Vick
Rubber butt up on the rifle just to cushion the kick
Let the hollow points blossom so the bullets’ll stick
It’s like I’m playing Minecraft how I’m cooking a brick
If I get the slightest urge, I’ma look up his chick
So I can send her all the pictures that I took of my dick
I’m back on my bullshit, and doing it Big League
I put his IV on the wall ‘cause I grew up at Wrigley
I leave his trap with chicken scratch like I drew him a squiggly
I draw different, so there ain’t no way you’re doodling with me
Family man, they gon have to plan his funeral quickly
Get your dome split: the whole kit ’n caboodle is with me
Either the chopper’ll take his wig like he boozing with Britney
Or he get sliced under his ribs like I’m removing a kidney
I got the kinda bars that you have to give a kidney for
People bite and try to bait me into something like a fishing lure
Team full of animals: Starfox 64;
For the cabbage, I’ll spray something Sauvage, it’s not Chris Dior
Daddy should’ve taught me better. Momma should’ve kissed me more
Trump Tower of terror, tell your daughter it’s a Disney tour
People on the ground’ll see her falling down fifty floors
Even Ripley swore he never seen some shit like this before
So after I Clapton your kid, you’ll get clapped in the rib
The way my finger licking shots, he need a napkin and bib
You’ll get twisted off the top: I will Snapple your lid
If you actually live, you’ll have something to tell people
And fun facts you can give, like
Did you know that Fresco will push your line back and then raffle your wig
And let blood cover the wall like The Faculty did?
Pulp Fiction: your girl off of the swag that I give
And she gon need a chest shot after we crash at the crib
You should be viral on YouTube: the chicken pox guy
With a face that’s made from scratch like a chicken pot pie
Bars easy to catch like you hit a pop fly
Got you looking stupid like your daddy when he didn’t drop by
Bars clip the whole row behind you, but you gon’ catch the brunt of it
Not even the Asian dude from Tiananmen Square could stand in front of this
I’ll make your bitch’s jaw drop, and if she withstand the punishment
I’ll make her keep that mouth open so I can ash the blunt in it

[Round 2: The Saurus]
There ain’t a chance that he can win today
The Bay’s what made a man of me
Homie, I’m on my Mophie shit: this case could change to battery
This isn’t anger management, it’s pain and agony
I’ll kill him, take the stand and get away with it: I’ll Casey Anthony
Okay, children. He’ll get coached on stage, that’s Craig Nelson
At our peaks, this is Mount Saint Helen’s to cave dwelling
Go ahead, click in your seat belt. It ain’t helping
‘Cause that hook’ll make him spin in his chair: he Blake Shelton
They tell me toe-tagging Fresco won’t happen, ever
But I’ll take flight, masked up: low cabin pressure
See his pen’s fire, but sometimes it don’t match his efforts
So the way he raps is playing catch: he just throws that together
Never risk-taking, but he must admit, what I did changed him
‘cause my shit gave him a foundation, I’m brick-laying
So the more you see this Criss Angel illusion of clips waving
The more you bout to see money get pressed like inflation
They been saying I’ll automatically lose if I use gay jokes on him
But I wouldn’t do that in the Bay so it ain’t no problem
I don’t need ‘em. Each ‘bow leave him with no feeling
No coke fiending, just dope lines, I’m
Ain’t no type of that powder, it’s just firing power;
I’m bout to Flash on him: 88 miles per hour
Even when he’s home, his bitch likes when I pound her;
She hop on it down the street like a wireless router
You been spiraling downward; it wasn’t a mistake
So keep bumping them gums, I’ll uppercut you in the face
Some’ll say I wouldn’t win this if it wasn’t in the Bay
But you’d get Trumped in every state, no Republican debate

[Round 2: Fresco]
You gave birth to off-point comparisons disguised as hard punches
Like, “Ho ho, that’s why your heart’s pumping
‘cause you look like Michael Clarke Duncan with his private parts shrunken.”
But my homie with the shit, so if you try to spark something
He got that Nickelodeon magazine, that means slime’ll start dumping
He said, “People think my left is made of metal plated armor..”
I stopped the battle right there and I never made it farther
He probably said
‘You’re fuckin up the Feng shui, you should’ve decorated smarter
This is not the fade you wanted; I’m your second-favorite barber
See, you just wanna pop a bottle like a celebration-starter
But they’re looking at you funny like an elevator farter.”
It’s lines like that that’ll probably get you relegated, partner
In your PoRich bag at Ground Zero on a detonation marker
Now that’s a tiny sample, but a prime example
You gotta know when to walk away, it’s no time to gamble
Bum-ass flow; fuck you and anybody taking it
I been using gun lines since Grind Time when everybody hated it
He was like, “All these wack emcees rapping about guns are just as fake as ever
At least I can frame it better and give a more creative effort;
I can use gun bars and stress the syllables to make it clever
‘cause he’s known for keeping something tucked like Caitlyn Jenner.”
You need to take your notebooks and throw ‘em all into a paper shredder
This shit has been a long time coming; it’s better late than never
I hardly spend time with my bars, ‘cause I don’t take forever
Plus I’m stuck in a teenage wasteland
Like the Staples Center when the Lakers enter
Now I’m out for blood; that’s why you losing a liter
I took my cue from Doctor Mundo how I threw you a cleaver
He was in a acting troupe, doing musical theater
While I was in a Aston coupe playing musical sweepers
He say I’m nice. But the feeling isn’t mutual, Peter
After the last album, Chase Moore don’t want nothing to do with you neither
I mean, Madness hasn’t called you since you blew up his beeper
It’s 2015. Your man Greg still ain’t threw you a feature
He’s known your ass for 20 years and still don’t have a song with you
So that’s a strong signal that your fans have all dwindled
Y’all could’ve done a rap-along single for the Amazon Kindle
And had the nursing home turn’t before your grandma called bingo
You must’ve scratched the wrong pimples, and you have some soft dimples
So you ugly and soft, I guess the path you on fits you
I could switch magazines like I grabbed the wrong issue
Or leave him crushed in the grill of the black Range like a mastodon hit you
They say The Saurus is robbing the cradle. Let’s get to chopping this fable
I say, keep that shit up for as long as you’re able
He’s like a card shark sitting at the softest of tables
Trying to lure a sucker in with the comedy angle
But I wonder what’ll happen when his daughter gets playful
40 year old man with a little girl you thought was your angel
In a fully loaded Jag with all the options enabled
Pulling that bitch’s hair back like she wanted a facial
He’ll probably tell her that he love her and he’s honest and faithful
But all he want is a quick plug like an optical cable
So now you’re up at night, looking at the locket she gave you
‘cause a lonely dad’s the only man that your daughter relates to

[Round 3: The Saurus]
I ain’t come to joke around. You know this clown’s been broken down
And for my local crowd, this is how a closing round’s supposed to sound
Now watch this, it’s all biz. He don’t know what a cross is
Til I drop one on him like a drawbridge
Shoulda saw this coming. Me punchlining with you?
It’s about to be more one-sided than unbiased review
You won’t deny that it’s true, just ‘cause I won’t pass the torch;
I’m Bo Jackson: belong in my own class of sport
I’ll kill him on cam, but it won’t stand in court
So why go back and forth? Just toe-tag the corpse
You got no chance. I’ll beat you in your own dang arena
Charge it to the game? Nope, won’t take his VISA
You want to throw? I’ll go straight to home plate and greet ya
I been flipping off the bat, San Jose Bautista
It don’t take a genius to see your business is foreclosed
Message delivered in morse code, this is a war zone
I know you straight, but how you dress? I’ve seen bitches in your clothes
It’s like you shop in Narnia: you lyin’ which is your wardrobe
This is more close to a dissection. Try testing
I’ll right, left, him, then shortcut like Swype texting
Your time’s ending. Walk over you high-stepping
Head shot make his whole thoughts change like a life lesson
Now I’m guessing there’s a reason that you reference ratchets
Even though you showed up dressed like that chick
Trying to appeal to two demographics like Lenny Kravitz
But it’s just theatrics. There’s nothing upstairs but an empty attic
I will dead this cat, head in a bag like any match they offer
This was just a short stop in the Bay: I’m Brandon Crawford
Ain’t no cannon fodder, this cat is softer than behind the candelabra
Now watch your life get cancelled like the time I battled Hoffa
Two-time champ, I’ll win it two times more
Now I’m back on top of the game like a new high score

[Round 3: Fresco]
You blew up when battles had DJs, but can’t rap to a beat
That’s like a professional breakdancer that can’t move his feet
Ugly dude with freestyles, they’re like, “That dude is heat”
But this was a written battle filmed in HD, which is bad news for Pete
And my lines’ll be the only lines they quote from it
So this won’t be a battle where the fans can say we both stunted
I roll something, pass it to your girl, now she’s so blunted
She gon give me a little face like the old hundreds
Red, white, and green diamonds like Italian ice
Shorty’s so wet on the phone, she need a bag of rice
You ain’t been popping for a while like a can of Slice
Seasoned fans took me so they booked me for the added spice
Now I ain’t even want to use this bar for Pete
But he lives in the desert, so he should be used to all this heat;
So from Cancun to a sand dune, I roll up on dude and park the jeep
Ready to dump the cans at his buggy like it’s Supermarket Sweep
I could wake his block up, or let the tech ring silent
Baby boy, I’m pro-choice, but fuck your left-wing bias
Now ‘that was a tec’ that was a check swing. But this next thing’s violent
I’m bout to open up on him like a X-Wing pilot
My connect always good: I got extra bandwidth
And a second plan for anything the weapons can’t fix
I got money changing hands like Megaman’s fist
The watch got a second hand; you got a secondhand wrist
He ’bout to face another blemish: this the worst you get sweeped
Ashes get swept under the rug like it hurts to give grief
Supersoaker backpack, squirt the kid brief
Plus, they love me in the hood like the First and Fifteenth
I be at the same health club where his chick belong
She catching pheromones from me at the Liftathon
Yoga mat down, let her suck me like a twisty straw
While she whip her hair back and forth like Dixie Kong
I’ll take her to the second gym like Misty gone
And make a movie that star me, that’s not Digimon
No a cappella group, but he gon’ know what kinda shit we on
When he hear that oo-wop going just like a ’50s song
No GPS tracking, but I’m getting Pete traced
They’ll have to set up a perimeter, and get police tape
That mean I’ll chalk this boy out. He want to get a clean slate;
I’ll cook him a couple minutes at a time like a Kid Cuisine plate
I’ll go into black ops mode; now I’m in his team base
He will not see zombies, but I’ll get his team chased
Warhammer, forty k’s without the figurine paint
He get ratchet after ratchet like he did a speed date
Lieutenant Worf nine, put him into deep space
And pitch a bird out the whip like they did in Speed Race
18 karats on the wrist, with the wintergreen face
And just looking at it giving you that Listerine taste
For trying to get a buzz off my shit, get you smacked with a flyswatter
I stay splashing his bitch like she rafting through whitewater
Back in school, I had the tool in the back of my guy’s locker
County jail, a young boy got put in a pod like Anakin Skywalker
He don’t need breaking news to see action from live choppers
For me it was always on sight; even scrapped with my eye doctor
His bitch on my album cover
Alex Summers from all the Havoc that I’ve caused her
But I’ve been through that bitch’s walls so many times
That I’m actually Nightcrawler
I’m pissed off at people even thinking the match was even
I mean I should Rerun my rounds cause this is a classic beating
I’m like Popeye the sailor: I’m gripping a can and squeezing
Talking out the side of your mouth gon’ get you the Bambi treatment
I brought the Thumper in the club. Now it’s switching to rabbit season:
If he Bugs, I’ll get him smoked like Yosemite Sam was creeping
Morris’ll catch a flashback like he’s sitting in class and dreaming
While I’m at his bae side, high, like Tiffani-Amber Thiessen
Mario Lopez is in the building: this is your chance to meet him
The silencer is Andy Griffin how it’s whistling back to greet him
This is Aladdin dreaming, I’m wishing we had a reason
I just had to get a couple bands off him before giving him back his freedom

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