Head I.C.E. vs. Arsonal [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Head I.C.E]
Turn the mic up – y’all hear me?
Yo, yo

I said, yo…
It’s a lot of Gs in Newark…nobody ever heard of K
They know of H
I J bitches that never even heard of K
H, I, J…K? It’s all alphabet
You want the alpha? Bet!
Everything high to the sky
What’s not on the ground is out the bet
I catch K while he reachin’ for instant noodles in the supermarket
Kill him, then blend in wit’ the people runnin’ from the shooter in the supermarket, nigga
It’s “go HAM” season
K…meet K! ‘K!? That’s a Klan meetin’, nigga
I know y’all like, “I.C.E, why you keep callin’ him ‘K’ when his shit start wit’ a A?
You tryna city-slick us”
Nah, this L gon’ put a-
This loss gon’ put a L on that
‘Cause I don’t see him doin’ shit wit’ cats
I just see him takin’ shit from cats…you the kitty litter, nigga
Yeah, you used to the cool side of me
Forgettin’ my rap sheet is tools, robberies
I’m the one who made the last Jones swim in a pool of blood beside of me
You a bitch, and I’ll let everybody in purple know
Only reason y’all ain’t see this pussy pregnant? ‘Cause you on birth control, nigga
Shotgun Suge told me to tell you…you lucky you his teammate
‘Cause ever since niggas went from abandoned buildings to makin’ some green made
One of his Grapes ain’t been actin’ like fine wine
They even tried to hide his well-deserved slice of his cheesecake
So him and Jai gon’ get the chip wit’ the All-Star, ‘cause the rest of his team fake, nigga
I should In Too Deep J. Reid this nigga
Make Surf pass him a gun and point at a random person and say, “Leave this nigga.”
But you a popular guy that got cop in yo’ eyes
I’m just waitin’ for that day I hear you yell…“Freeze”, my nigga
Yeah, freeze, my nigga: Sub-Zero
But outside of the grocery stores, I don’t even lie on one hero
That’s me, the Freddy Krueger dreamchaser
The limousine-racer
The one that’ll knock you out and use your pose as my screensaver, nigga
You know the rules!
I don’t smoke loud wit’ minors
Lose my child, I’ll find ya
And this bus driver uppercut gon’ have you and yo’ sneaks almost lookin’ like Jordan in the air: Harold Miner!
Yeah, I.C.E vers’ Ars’ – who knew that?
(I.C.E!) See?
Call home ‘cause I just gave my wolf two new straps
I told him if somebody in the crowd say, “Me!”, raze your crib
They already case where you live and how to get away off of Google Maps
Now fake killas know how real killas get down, ‘cause Organik and Avi about to YouTube that
I know you heard that rumor about Hoffa…suin’ O and them for lost wages
But did you hear the rumor that you, Charlie Clips, and Cortez is the ones helpin’ him wit’ the court papers!?
I knew you was a cop…
But seek and you shall find, ‘cause you leadin’ the blind
Those that C wit’ you can’t even see wit’ you
I’m just keepin’ it G, Ar’
Apes’ll peel a yellow down your back to show that flavor don’t even be wit’ you
That’s why a B wit’ you!
But let me chill, ‘fore niggas think I’m set-trippin’
But if you diss me and yell on yo’ set, you trippin’
‘Cause you ain’t no rider
You behind the driver wit’ yo’ cell phone, not a strap in your lap for the beef
That’s why Shotgun Suge the shooter and the driver
‘Cause he can’t rely on no partner like you in the passenger seat, nigga

[Round 1: Arsonal]
“I said, I used to play ball…until the hoop became short to me
Never supported me, so I looked at it awkwardly”
Stop lyin’, I.C.E
You ain’t never played ball, nigga
You just a old-ass, unathletic-ass tall nigga
You my mans, so I ain’t gon’ call you a fraud nigga
But if the shoe fits, wear it, and you lookin’ like Cinderella after that ball, nigga
A old nigga that used to be poppin’…he’s a Dave Chappelle
You told Jones, first gat you raised was a gauge at the age of 12
That was ‘bout 36 years ago, but you agin’ well
I ain’t gotta rap about raisin’ a strap – the strap raise Darrell
What you know ‘bout beefin’ wit’ niggas over Cs (overseas) that speak a different slang than you?
Homies dyin’ every other week, this lifestyle changin’ you
Niggas in your family jealous, your cousins won’t hang wit’ you
You mad at your brother ‘cause he scared to let his K shine (K-Shine), but his DNA the same as you
What you know about bein’ young, Black in America?
Society keep on blamin’ you
They tryna put you in a system and give a number, not a name to you
What you know about havin’ to shoot at your childhood best friend ‘cause he grew up in a rival neighborhood and he claim a different gang than you?
You wasn’t really in the streets, Unc’
You wasn’t forced to let your heat dump
Where I grew up, niggas was so poor they couldn’t afford free lunch
In the park after dark, we got the blikky by the tree stump!
Lay him flat on his back and use his body as a speed bump!
Now when I think of O.G., guess who come to mind, Wolf? Not you
My younger wolf – he 19, but already run the block, too
He worse than ISIS, he’ll fire on the SWAT, too
911 got disconnected in my hood
The pizza man’ll show up to your doors before the cops do!
Fucked up thing is he came to deliver rounds that was hot, too
Now y’all want that old shit
That stick a butter knife through a goldfish
Pull the firing pin out the grenade and tell him, “Hold this.”
Project X parties, midgets in the stove shit
Soon as you finish your Wheaties, drown the nigga in the bowl shit!
That old shit
No pun intended, but when he say 30s and the 40s, he sayin’ his age range
He not talkin’ ‘bout his gun extended
Now I came to Harlem and found Lux, nigga
I left my city unattended
To come to your ‘hood and find the plug like my phone was on 1 percentage
Now I heard you did a little time in the county and niggas was takin’ I.C.E food
All that tough shit out the window, they said Anthony’s a nice dude
I’ll have your son like the son on Blood Diamond
Tradin’ on his pops, actin’ quite rude
He’ll set you up
I told him, “Your biggest role’ll be playin’ your daddy.”
You just got Ice Cubed
Straight outta Compton, nigga!

[Round 2: Head I.C.E]
Yo, Ars’, I went from takin’ my frustration out on a bean bag
To almost catchin’ them same court cases Beans have, nigga
I should crack somethin’: crab meat
Make you make a noise before I put you on yo’ ass like a fart balloon in a class seat
Yeah, squeezin’ through our glass’ll (hourglass) get you a Sandra Bland picture, no rap beef, nigga
Yeah, you can’t beat me with my style
Just respect it and bow down
I give a fuck you niggas ballin’, I’ll put TECs in ya foul mouth
Eat a dick! Chow down
Who gon’ see me!? Try now
I catch you snoopin’ ‘round my house, meet the dog: Bow Wow!
This shit easy, Ars’, we both professionals
You diss my bitch, I diss yo’ bitch
That just mean we both is sexual
But difference is I’ll lift this fif’ and hit yo’ wig, and split this shit you call home into a sectional
The rent’s due
I’m smokin’ blunts and totin’ guns with people who never even heard of Wu-Tang Clan
They only Meth is the crystal
And they know a bunch of incarcerated Scarfaces: no instrumentals
You the nigga that know a nigga that know a nigga that know a nigga that got the pistol
I’m the nigga that know the nigga that know the nigga that know the nigga that drove the nigga that got wit’ you
Shit may sound confusin’
Buit you can’t duck when my hittas is goosin’
Basically, I’m tellin’ you I can send that gun to kill you, or I can send that same gun for you to use it
Either way, somethin’ gettin’ chalked after the hit like the top of a pool stick
That’s light – Roc voice
If I hit you wit’ a Cal’, you gon’ feel like you skinny-dippin’
Foam gon’ be in yo’ mouth, I’m talkin’ Pennys, Pippens
But the first nigga down gon’ get the Kenny Griffiths, nigga
Sports bars! Come have a drink wit’ me
Sports cars! I still like the 650
WorldStar? Man, stars in the world can’t even link wit’ me
So you can keep on yo’ sports bra, ‘cause I believe yo’ G string from Sin City, nigga!
Yeah, I.C.E, cold-hearted
If I put my hand around yo’ throat, the smell in the room gon’ let me know you and the nigga in yo’ crew both farted, nigga
So I don’t respect your floss game
You had to give it all back when the boss came
I should let a silver bullet fly out this tunnel like the 4 Train
Or beat you wit’ so many chairs (cheers), docs gon’ think you was Rookie of the Year for a sports team, nigga!

[Round 2: Arsonal]
I like that…
“Pinky ring knockin’ his eye out
Blood in my stones, let’s get it on befo’ runnin’ from time out”
This the type of shit that you rhyme ‘bout
A bunch of fictitious stories on you takin’ the crime route
Well, where I’m from, a bundle’s ten little baggies wit’ the dope in it
In Spanish, a nigga can’t say “crazy” without the loc in it
I’m beyond cruel
Battery acid in your pool and make you soak in it
My lil’ niggas crazy enough to shoot up the White House while the Pope in it
You and Rex had a fake fight
Y’all think I’m worried ‘bout stage fright
Where I’m from…you can catch niggas mournin’ in the late night
Sellin’ work was the only way to get your cake right
Water-whippin’, got my wrists lookin’ like I was tryna reel in a Great White
You got the physique of a freak…and the patience of a rapist
You Harlem battlers is like celebrity titties: the nicest ones be the fakest
Why y’all think Charlie Clips so nice? ‘Cause his daddy was givin’ statements
That taught him to be swift off the head and speak on other niggas’ greatness
Harlem known for pointin’ the fingers and doin’ write-ups
Y’all wired 99 percent of the time…
That’s your life – fuck!
You niggas not like us
What’s the first thing he did when he jumped in the ring?
He said, “Y’all can hear me? Then cut my mic up”
I was in them Harlem projects by myself back in them old blogs
Before you battled Swave Sevah and was talkin’ ‘bout them homefries
First time I rapped for I.C.E, he ain’t know what to do like a thot bitch when her phone dies
I said, I got a gun so big, that shit serious…Jones’ size
Now you better respect my disrespect
I give off that “I’m the GOAT” vibe
My gun fire like a supervisor
I remember when Tommy ain’t have no job
Now that semi slam out the minivan while it low-ride
You gon’ think it was new-age soccer moms how the door slid open on both sides
Now I was at McDonald’s drive-thru, right? Where the speaker be on both sides
Halfway through my order, the bitch askin’ for my Coke size
I.C.E callin’ his bitch while she wit’ me on “Side Nigga Day”
You just killed both vibes!
The bitch was already salty – now she ain’t gettin’ NO FRIES!
Why you ain’t tell me you and my grandma know each other?
(*A ripple of laughter runs through the crowd*)
Nah, fuck that, I ain’t laughin’ today
What you thought, yo’ past wasn’t gon’ catch up to you and you could just pack it away?
She said, “Me and ol’ Anthony went to high school together…”
Somethin’ her old ass just happened to say
I looked at my grandma and said, “Girl, you better not tell me you ain’t give that nigga I.C.E no ass back in the day”
I was gon’ slap the livin’ dogshit out my grandma if she fucked I.C.E!
Like a new refrigerator, all it take is the click of a button for me to crush I.C.E! (ice)
My gun like Arsonal in ‘08 wit’ two jobs: that mean it bus(t) twice!
Fuck I.C.E!

[Round 3: Head I.C.E]
He gon’ rap that fast shit, but I ain’t tryna keep up wit’ him
Ray Swag clothes’ll look beat up wit’ him
Nigga, save yourself
Your leg got shot in the leg
He gon’ need another leg to help
Man, I ain’t came to play wit’ you niggas
Sparks flyin’, I’ll leave whoever in the dark cryin’
If he ain’t part-Iron, it’s gon’ be another murder (Murda)
Mook gon’ be on the run for somethin’ he wouldn’t do like another song with Shine rhymin’
What? You gang-bang, nigga?
Well, I can’t stand here and say the same thing, nigga
But I’ll definitely tell you that my wolves gon’ show up wit’ them same things, nigga
And the mortician ain’t got be able to tell who Crip when all your blood is mixed in the same stains, nigga
Yeah! What? Play wit’ me
You know it stay wit’ me ‘cause you used to stay wit’ me
Bullets sharp as the front of a 850
You and your BM ain’t gon’ see this W unless you race wit’ me!
And you outta breath
Only my mind is pure as cocaine, so you may crack, but this is not a test
And you only ride around on them hoverboards ‘cause them real street dealers in the ‘hood told you to watch your STEPS!
I don’t know why they let you in the N.O
I gotta talk to P
Baby, Wayne…I’m finna go out’cheah
You did a song with Choppa City? Man, you’se a whole ho out’cheah!
I don’t give a fuck! What!?
You was a Gladiator and got beat up
Met some Ultimate Warrior and he sent you back to Gladiator School, clean-up!
What’s up wit’ you losin’ to all these new niggas? Where we do that?
Frost was lookin’ like Big T wit’ dreads, tellin’ you to bring that Chillaka-boom back
Showoff turned your show off like you ain’t pay the cable
Where’s Mikee Mula? He the one that sell the ‘caine in Abel
But now Caine wit’ O-Dog, so he gotta keep it G in public
I guess this the part of the movie where you get slumped over Anthony for what you did to Ilena’s cousin!
Yeah, now watch me switch speeds
I’m the next Creed, my pops was a boxer
I’m the Lucky Luciano in our clique!
You was just part of the mobsters, nigga
I’ll get you hit in the hip, black mask
The biscuit came wit’ a two-piece for Mr. Chicken: oh, that’s Cass
Drake’ll give me $50,000 for this black bag
Joe Budden’ll buy me a Hummer to say yo’ raps trash
Basically, I’m tryna tell you that all these disasters (Dizaster) ain’t gon’ stop after Mass
And yeah, I’m after Math (Aftermath): Dr. Dre!
I’mma get my point across from the jump
He gon’ respect my line like Dr. J!
And I’m not for play, Ars’ already know that
If he so much as draw a fake gun, I’mma give him that K-Shine/Charron slap
All that tough talk ain’t gon’ fly ‘round me
I put bullets in yo’ dreads, maggots in yo’ stomach, flies ‘round heem
Now I can’t stand here and say shit like, “Ars’, you suck”
‘Cause sometimes you be beatin’ the piss outta niggas, about a large two cups
But ever since that kick off the stage, you must’ve fucked up yo’ shoulder
‘Cause you don’t use that arm too much
So even on yo’ block, you can’t block when I’m stompin’ you out wit’ my dark blue Chucks, nigga
Yeah, I’m undeniable
Yeah, he get paid and got millions of views, but he unreliable
I don’t wanna walk in your shoes or even sit on yo’ bed, ‘cause they fuckin’ tryin’ to
I showed you nothin’ but love since a cub
And ever since you left the Den, you ain’t do shit that a lion do
I know why you don’t want the last name, Hakeem
It’s deep as the abyss
You’d prob’ly fuck a mermaid for lack of seaweed and fish
You bitch-ass nigga…
I.C.E, nigga
Fuck outta here

[Round 3: Arsonal]
I admit, last year, I had a lot of fuck-ups
But I’m still sellin’ my shit
These Harlem niggas out here still threatenin’ to put a shell in my shit
But that ain’t what’s been derailin’ my shit
Y’all know how hard it is to concentrate on bars when your 1-year-old walkin’ past smellin’ like shit
She cryin’ for attention, she need her diaper changed, and she hungry?
I’m like, “Fuck rehearsin’ these bars”
It’s time I tend to my family, dummy
I got 30K for Shotty rematch
That ain’t mine – that’s my family money
But it seem like losin’ focus on battle rap now got me livin’ in Miami money
So never question how I’m livin’, nigga
My priorities is proper, nigga
You might have never choked up, but next week, you might get choked up by that Hoffa nigga
I choked vers’ Bishop, Shotty, and Showoff, but it ain’t bother nigga
‘Cause I’ll give up this battle rap career any fuckin’ day to continue bein’ a father figure
Now, I.C.E…you so fuckin’ old, niggas who never heard of you respect you
Naw! Naw! Naw! Scratch that! I got a better one
I.C.E, you so fuckin’ old, Uncle Snoop Dogg don’t even refer to you as nephew!
A lot of my closest friends died recently from gettin’ shot with a cold gauge
A lot of yo’ closest friends died recently from natural causes and old age
Now I’m that same Jersey nigga from Newark, on that Grapin’ shit
Open up yo’ eyes and realize who you playin’ wit’
A chopper send his ass overseas when I get to wavin’ it
A cap or two will send him flyin’
Where I.C.E land? Reykjavik
Welp, there goes my education ‘cause the capital of Iceland is Reykjavik
Y’all might be quiet in Canada, but in Europe, that bar shakin’ shit!
I’m the nigga wit’- WOO!
I’m the nigga wit’ the locs, they favorite: call me Jadakiss
This new ratchet Jaden Smith, ‘cause I will raise the shit
File the numbers off, the serial (cereal) hot: Quaker shit!
I’m leavin’ Head shot! All headshots when I’m wavin’ it!
These hollows’ll get sent to mental (sentimental), like the Dininon in ‘09 after that Fight Klub ass-whoopin’ I gave the bitch!
Hold on, I.C.E…
Hollow, niggas offered you 30 racks to get re-killed
You declined and asked for 20 more
Dininon, let’s be real
Now you lookin’ dididi-dumb! 30’s a sweet deal!
But you tried to take your shot at 50 – fuck is you, Meek Mill?
See, I could violate his ass all night
But I’m out the penalty box, so let’s get back on I.C.E (ice)
I shoulda had Ill Will, Sno, or JC come and tap on I.C.E
Y’all like, “What’s that?”
Henny on the rock: I put the Yak (‘gnac) on I.C.E (ice)!
.40 wit’ the silencer (*phew-phew*)
The whole clip whistlin’
This business, never personal, it’s all about a Benjamin
But them Top 5 convos, you don’t ever get mentioned in
I’mma melt I.C.E (ice) down and send him to Flint, Michigan!
They need water!
Now all these foreigners to this genre is like vultures
You gotta stay relevant like Ars’ to progress in this type culture
Well, take a look at my game tapes, nigga, they might coach ya
Well, come to me ‘cause I can mold you, nigga: I.C.E (ice) sculpture
Ars’ the GOAT
After eight fuckin’ years, I remain wavy
I’ll kill a clown, got the body count of John Wayne Gacy
(Killer clown is John Wayne Gacy)
But Organik know you a lame, baby!
They flew me first-class, but flew Head coach to Toronto: Dwayne Casey!
Now, last but not least, in eight days you work for me, nigga
You got a battle on my league – two brothers clash
So I advise you watch your mothafuckin’ mouth if you plan on receivin’ yo’ other half
My shit is real, my shit is raw, yo’ shit is fuckin’ trash
I swear to God, on my life, I will give the rest of yo’ money to Brother Math
Now y’all can fuckin’ laugh, nigga

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