Caustic vs. Bigg K [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Caustic]
To keep it real with y’all, I could beat Bigg K in just one verse
So I’ll be on a roll after I tear him to shreds;
I’m fucking Lush One’s shirt
They said don’t sleep on your opponent. That fool K legit
He’s got haymakers and bars; man that dude say some shit
Y’all hear him in the preview talking greazy?
Like he just gonna soufflé the kid
Man I haven’t heard you that hyped about a trailer since you got a new place to live
But his fans talk about him like he the best kept secret
Like it’s blasphemous; he’s somebody that I could never compete with
He’s top five, next to… Cyborg, Eminem and Redneck Jesus;
Bigg K’s such a fucking thug
Even his name is on some extra G shit
But honestly bro, I hate how simple you write
It’s just a bunch of metaphors, similes and likes
Man, motherfucking cats like you get the fuckin idiots hype
But you an innocent type. We live a different life
I mean your delivery’s tight
But dog, you are Deliverance white
I mean, ten years ago you wasn’t getting down with the bitches
Looks like you used to paint your face
And get down with the sickness
He said he’s got Walmart lines
Well that would explained this discounted image
But you can’t fuck with my brand: this Target ‘ll put Bigg K out of business
You are the worst kind of white
That’s why your lines are not good
This shit’s like South Park: no one understands when Kenny tries to talk hood
Two years ago, you used to call us all nerds
But I guess he rock with us now
But if he says a line that don’t get reaction, then it’s something wrong with the crowd
You like to talk while people rapping
Oh my god, you’re a clown
I’ll put a pistol in his mouth
Let’s see him talk through my rounds
Bitch, I’ll be stalking your house while you sleeping all alone
Feel the steel against your dome
While you’re reaching for the phone
He said I got a geek squad
But ain’t no trouble(-)shooting people in your home
You don’t know my history, dog, I’m incognito with the chrome
(He doesn’t even fucking get it, that’s how fucking stupid he is)
He thinks he’s Nino with the blow
So he deserves what he’s getting
Shit, you wasn’t locked down for that long, dog
I heard you was snitching
Oh look at him shaking his head
Like you wasn’t a fucking nerd up in prison
I bet you get checked on sight(site) like terms and conditions
Dog, people talk like you’re the best
But you are honestly the worst
Why don’t you go spit some more Digimon bars
And then call us all nerds?
So keep this shit rap, and do not talk through my verse
Before I have to make a split decision about which chin I’m gonna fuckin sock you in first

[Round 1: Bigg K]
Hey yo Caustic. Your nose look like a guitar pick
Nah, it look like your pops is half swordfish
My shit rip through bricks and make floor rip
This a match you ain’t fit for; you should forfeit
Four-four bulldog or the four-fifth
Money’ll get a magazine: that’s the Forbes list
You dead. I’m picking up a box: that’s a forklift
You softer than Norbes fist; I’m strong as a horse kick
You rely on personals and disrespect
‘Cause if you was to just spit, we’ll feel a disconnect
I rap. You a comedian. Hit your set
You just a funny, low-life piece of shit, at best
You gon need Arcane to come and write your verse
Remember when Soul duffed you? I’ll do you twice as worse
Rip your throat open; put this knife to work
The doc’s gon have to button around your neck like life alert
Big Berettas. The kickbacks ain’t get-togethers
Twin M-9’s, look like you trying to knit a sweater
If he bugging, I get to spraying: that’s the citronella
And one pump can split a pumpkin like Cinderella
It’s gray hairs in your beard; you should get some gel-a
You rocking the Salt-N-Pepa like Spinderella
Bang. While you rip the leaf off a ciga-rella
You’ll catch a bullet in the teeth like Penn and Teller
So say my gun bars is fake. Question my thug affiliation
I went to prison for armed robbery and assault with a firearm
That’s public information
But I’m ‘posed to believe he evil and got a gun in the briefcase
‘cause he scream when he rapping and put on the mean face?
Look man, you walked in a loser. I get the win on arrival
Jesus Christ, K the god, I go across your shit with a bible
You gon realize you ain’t fit for survival
Once you get the chance to spit with your idol
And this is a big ass G check like Illmac winning the title
Now open with a rebuttal. Bring some clown to the vibe
Dickride the Bay Area to keep the crowd on your side
But y’all put up a Warhol against a fucking cornball
You had the whole time I was rapping to think of four bars

[Round 2: Caustic]
It’s exactly what I expected: bunch of death threats that didn’t mean a thing at all
I guess the story goes, if you’ve seen one Bigg K verse, then I guess you’ve seen ‘em all
I’ll make a deal with all of y’all
If he can go the next round without saying the word “like”, I will retire from rap
He thinks he’s Dr. fucking Dre, it’s all “like” this and “like” that
But you didn’t sound like that in ’09
Shit you didn’t rhyme like that
Not when you was begging me for battles
Back in GrindTimeChat
Shit, I know this guy like that. Me and dude got a history
I opened doors for this bitch, I guess you could call it chivalry
I’m trash? Bitch, you trash. You gotta be kidding me
Whoever dropped you off at the event
Should’ve got a ticket for littering
All he talk about is video games and cartoons, and y’all swear like his bars are the hardest
But it’s honestly kinda what I expected from someone I legit thought was retarded
And I swear to fucking god
If this fat piece of shit keeps calling me garbage
I’ll put sweepers on his helmet like he’s Marvin the Martian
I said fuck his size, I’m this high, I’ll kill his style with two bars
Said even we inside, let’s fist fight til your left eye is f.u.b.a.r
Oh now your lips dry, can’t spit rhymes, get this guy a cue card
See you can’t do what I do
But I’m pretty sure I’m better at your style than you are
So what you wanna do, dog? This your funeral, K
You’re a big fat nervous nail-biting motherfucker
How them cuticles taste?
Dog, y’all really think K’s a gangster with a tool in his waist
But I’m a real estate agent: you make a move
And I’ll put you in your place
I keep my cash in a shoebox. No revenue’s in the banks
I don’t care if money gets locked up, then this dude isn’t safe
You a counterfeit
A little light behind him will prove that he’s fake
And y’all can count on me to keep it one hundred
Until I’m blue in the face
Yo he does a little thing every time that I rhyme
I dunno if I’m battling somebody or fucking fighting a fucking mime
Yeah, I’ma keep it one hundred with y’all
Anybody this fucking big should not be a coward
Dog, I don’t know if I’m trying to battle rap somebody or fucking argue with the bouncer
Dog, he claims to be a boss that spits fire, but his punches don’t got any power
So it makes a lot of sense that you and Illmac looked like Mario versus Bowser
Honestly, I fell asleep through half of your rounds
I mean if you keep stepping up, I’ma keep backing him down
But I’m back now, the man they’ve been asking about
I say fuck Illmaculate, I should be the champion now
Shut the fuck up. As if you had any doubt
Dog, if he the man of the house, then I’m grabbing his spouse
Put a gag in her mouth and fucking dragging her out
I’ll yoke that bitch up while her panties are down
And slide a dick in her ass while I’m tapping her out
See I’m the dude that live the shit that you be rapping about
See I don’t normally rap but I had to make an example out of the clown
Look at him, nervous. You can see the sweat damping his brow
Somebody pass him a towel
Like Th3 Saga when he’s logging onto his Brazzers account
It’s in god’s hands now, bitch, what them passwords about?

[Round 2: Bigg K]

When we first met, he said, “Fam, you nice, K.”
And I appreciate that, you fake ass Andrew Dice Clay
Look, straight to the money once I land: two-night stay
I’ll pop you cold square in the mouth like a brand new ice tray
Razor to your face, get severed in cold cuts
You soft. Peanut butter and jelly with no crust
A two-piece, then you ‘sleep. I can tell he’a fold up
Do something. I will smack the gel out your bowl cut
I grind the whole winter, through the cold and fleece;
I’m blowing sticky like a hippie, holding the piece
You think you fast as lightning, toe to toe with a beast
Just ‘cause you got a haircut like Travolta in Grease
What you know about grinding and ducking raids when the feds sweep?
You blow that big ass nose with a bed sheet
They threw your ass in a shark tank; you dead meat
You’ll be your homies’ chest piece by the next week
I talk it ‘cause I live it; you don’t live it to talk it
Hit the compartment, click it, then I click it and spark it
Two eights, roommates: they’ll split your apartment
Enter the gauntlet. This the strongest shit on the market
This idiot Caustic lost it. He ain’t no type thug
Get a bright idea, I will break your light bulb
Make this Italian speak Spanish before I take your life, blood
‘cause you gon give this floor a kiss, in Beso Nightclub
Skip the babbling. Before rap, I was in the Radisson
O.T. with my O.G., really trafficking
Breaking down, bagging up, clipping, packaging
And wasn’t stepping up in your spot ‘less I get the ratchet in
So stick to battling. I hit harder than fifty javelins
I took Caustic in the Bay ‘cause I’m into traveling
You need the hometown support; I ain’t really mad at him
I bring that fire shit to your porch: Billy Madison

[Round 3: Caustic]

I am sick and fucking tired of them saying Bigg K talks that real shit
So I think it’s high time I pulled your card, you giant fucking Garbage Pail Kid
Y’all heard him in the trailer hating. Saying that my angles is a crutch
But you’re basically saying that you’re not creative enough
To find a specific way to say that I suck
I mean, you could say the same, but you playing gangster too much
So here’s a fucking angle for you, K, you tell me if I’m making it up
So me and you got cool around when you lost — and I lost —
So please believe that I meant that shit when I called us homies
It’s hard for me to stand up here and even call him phony
But what the sad part is is that my own boys really do not know me
I lost my dad when I was five. I lost my brother when I was eight
I lost a couple homies this year, I just had to shoulder the weight
I don’t even blink no more, dog, this shit happens every day
But y’all keep trying to make this battle rap shit real
Man, this battle rap shit is my escape
Man, it’s because all you fucking battle cats are fake
Acting like you don’t got an emotional side
Honestly dog
I think about my dead homies every morning the second I open my eyes
So if I ever fucking push you away or act different then don’t be surprised;
I do it for your own good, K, ‘cause everybody close to me dies
I remember back in the day when I didn’t have any rights
In and out of group homes and jail for over half of my life
Before I was taking this battle rap shit to new heights
I was taking baby steps because my shackles was too tight
So nowadays everybody acts like it’s cool to be a criminal with wealth
But every time you rap I just hear a bunch of bars about you snitching on yourself
Dog, a lot of people know me from outside of this shit
Including you, K. And you know I don’t like to glorify the type of lifestyle that I live
I mean I never did this shit to be cool. I was just trying to provide for my kid
‘cause if he needed it I would honestly give him the lung straight from inside of my ribs
But this guy. This guy. Man this guy isn’t it
You serve dime bags and shit. You don’t understand breaking pies into zips
And trying to add just the right amount of cut to maximize what you get
Dog, you don’t know that feeling when the five-o pulls up alongside of your whip
And he’s giving you the eye because you’re higher than shit
Hiding your sweat ‘cause you’re three deep in the deep East
And you got a trunk with a disconnected Alpine full of bricks
And you think your little fucking rap lines gonna hit?
There’s nothing you can say to me
I will let you walk a mile in my shoes just so you’re a mile a-fuckin-way from me
So for those that don’t know me, this some shit you’ve never heard before
I keep that part of my life separate because I prefer to work alone
You try to dig your little dirt but I am cleaner than a germaphobe
And you about to get so much work I should’ve hit you from my burner phone
I’ve met all my heroes. And they all say I’m the dude
You just write a bunch of shit you saw in movies and you fake like it’s true
I didn’t bring you all the way to San Jose just so I could play-fight with you
This ain’t no viral pity party like fuckin Daylyt and Oops
So I bet you sound real cool to them little kids that never struggled
But I just wanted to reminded you what you sound like
To those of us that really hustle

[Round 3: Bigg K]
Daniel take your pick: revolver or a slice
I got the hammer and the pick, like I’m carving out of ice
See I could bar you to death, but that’ll hardly be a fight
So I’ma use this third round to talk about your life
You brought me to your house. Say that isn’t facts
You got a grown man roommate. Just two dudes, kicking back
That don’t mean they licking sacks, that ain’t what I’m getting at
But they got a fucking kitty cat. Dog, what type of shit is that?
But I guess when you’re Mr. Disrespectful, that’s how you do things
Walk around Oakland with a cat on a shoestring
Got the nerve to talk crazy and be kicking that wild shit
Knowing that your living room smell like Meow Mix
You kiss that cat in the mouth, and put it in your purse
Before you allowed to eat, you gotta make his dinner first
You on Twitter popping off like you gon get at Surf
You feeling Evil ‘cause you pen a verse stroking Mr. Bigglesworth
I will Petey Pablo that little shit, it stinks
Skin it alive and sew a fucking midget mink
You in the house overflowing your kitchen sink
Struggling trying to give a bath to Mister Jinx
How you a stray pet back tickler but yet he raps sinister?
You tried to trace a day in my steps, you’d snap fibulae
Fuck these racist fans that say we rap similar;
I bark with the big dogs. You a cat whisperer
It pisses in your bed. Made you buy an extra sheet
It purrs on your chest while you cry yourself to sleep
You’s a motherfucking girl. You done made your choice
And you battle ‘cause it’s the only time you get to raise your voice
So stop lying like you mean. You fronting, that isn’t facts
Ain’t hustling in the rap or running in with a strap
Next time y’all hear Caustic thugging up in his raps
Just picture him and his roommate on the couch, cuddled up with a cat

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