Iron Solomon vs. B Magic [Lyrics]

[Round 1: B Magic]
I say umm, bars finna get real when bars finna spit
I’m saucing the shit, Saw finna give false images
Kabal finish him, car flippin’ if y’all in the bitch
You damn near lose your life in Boston; I’m Paul Piercing him
You know Paul Pierce, nigga
You damn near ain’t make the cut
Purge season, at your door, like, “You coming to play or what?”
Shotgun, close range, coupon; I’m saving bucks
If I have to come back it’s official, like Lady Luck
Is y’all ready? ‘Cause, nigga, I be bustin’ a TEC
Have your moms over the casket, like, “I love him to death.”
Keep the homies quiet
Because this Hawk I got tucked in the sweats
Is my Avenger; leave Ironman plugged in his chest
If it’s beef, then it’s just temporary
Heat around me, read about it, keep the TEC’s in the Chevy
Slit his throat, I’m tryna cut out what he was just finna tell me
This cat will be walking dead, like Pet Cemetery
You the next getting buried, I shatter your face
It’s Magic, I’ma die a king, nigga; Alex The Great
Black or white, brown or tan, I still clap in the place
You get bombed on in Boston no matter the race
My nigga, I run shit
Titanic; before it go down you niggas jump ship
Punk bitch, you can get a tooly to your cheek
This chopper will ring a bell; it’s a beauty in a beast
Niggas be smart in school but be stupid in the street
You get a headstone; I’m Medusa with the heat
You get a whole clip, from the Uzi if your reach
They gon’ have to turn your food into smoothies when you eat
His name Solomon, but bitch, I’m the king that is real
“Heard you got Iron Solomon, Magic.” – big deal
I’ll run up with a gun up, this bummer get big steel
Two rounds in his back
Big round in his front; that’s a Big Wheel
Check the flow, I might be guilty as charged, just act innocent
Rap venomous, let me show you what rap venom is
He gon’ need a few good men, like Jack Nicholson
When I put the ratchet to work, like black businesses
Viciousness, bitch, I spit fire from the first
Say you wanna see more popularity? Just die, the shit’ll work
First six of your homeboys gonna slide you in a hearse
Then your views will increase once Iron on a shirt
Look, I’ma make somebody coffin
You try to run, leg shot, ain’t nobody walkin’
Ain’t nobody talking, when I hop up out the Caddy
And put Iron in a bag ain’t nobody golfin’
The shotty sparkin’, a gun’ll blaze ya
Arm raised, you see the light; I’m the undertaker
It’s Writer’s Bloque, posted up with these .45’s
Just know it’s Magic when they tell you that the show arrived

[Round 1: Iron Solomon]
You wanna know how I see the world?
Take a peek through these crooked glasses
You’ll spot yourself in my rear view but for me there’s no looking backwards
Nikiya, I’m on fire with this heat I be cooking classics
You gotta strike while the Iron is hot, keep booking matches
And I’ma keep taking these names and whooping asses
This hobby I put in practice puts bodies in wooden caskets
I put a hit on B Gs they ain’t gon’ survive
It goes “ha ha ha” but no ones staying alive
Or we can do a different dance move, my wrist both lock
It will knock your soul out when dis goes pop
Yo, I tried to stop this from happening, I pleaded, “Just think it over.”
But they used Poison for trapping this measly rodent to feed the cobra
A beast, I’ll eat ’til the feast is over, leave his bones to appease the vultures
So B, better keep it kosher, trying to beef with a seasoned soldier
To me, you’re soul food, I mean BBQ, meat and okra
You a monster? Well meet the ogre
I make monsters look mediocre, you a god, till they see Jehovah
Y’all impressed with a Z of doujah, ’til it’s next to a ki of coka
What can Anakin teach to Yoda?
See what happens when they need exposure?
How they gassed him to leave his sofa to come to my house
And lie down in this bag, well sleeping over!
Wake up!
It’s all a dream but it ain’t always all it seems like Paula Deen cooking collard greens
Your holiday is Halloween
It feels like you caught your queen fucking Charlie Sheen
The top tiers in your face, got you feeling like the Jordan meme
I make Marilyns outta Norma Jeanes and put these pussies on the screen
I don’ made more cats famous than Carter Deems
I got your name ringing, your digits is up now
You hitting figures you ain’t touched in a while, that’s a drunk dial
Get clocked like a grown man, you got hands like a young child
Throw shade, I’ll show you what time it is, that’s a sundial
Nas, Hov’, Biggie I’m all of them compiled
An Amish woman’s closet, you only got one style
And it’s all recycled fluffer, when it’s time to fight each other
You say the same thing in every single ring, you Michael Buffer
You George Foreman grilling, your range is very narrow
This recipe you cook with is the same in every battle
Every, one flow
Y’all give dude a dap like I’ve got millions
I’ll body everyone’s flow, do the dap like a chameleon, brilliant
I kill him with versatility son, Attila The Hun’s artillery, a million guns
And this is date rape, I ain’t gon’ fill him with drugs
But you gon’ really be fucked up, I pop a pill in your mug
I go hard, you hearing variation every time I rap
Your style easy, you don’t really wear a lot of hats
And you ain’t Earvin “Magic” this habit becomes the death of you
You sick, but doing the same fucking shit is unacceptable
When they talk of top five, it’s so one dimensional
It’s no wonder you can’t get no one to mention you

[Round 2: B-Magic]
I say you wanna get it, I’m wit’ it
Wanna rumble then fuck it
49 in the clip, keep one in the oven
Catch him at a get together, get to slumping his cousin
Then I’ll make two Irons to get beat punching with Douglas
Pull the gun in the public, you can die in the street
All you gon’ hear tomorrow is nigga Iron deceased
Catch you snoozing you losing
Turn your life into meat
The Freddy Krueger the Ruger, bitch you can die in your sleep
I’m a survivor of beef, I be locing with some killers
But know niggas who throw up Blood like Cirrhosis of the liver
Why are all these monkey niggas keep posing as gorillas?
I go beast mode on a mic like the opening of “Thriller”
Brand new, chrome nina, rose gold trim on it
Just bought it, black BM, four do’ rims on it
Seen Iron hop out, now it’s go mode, wig on him
Name flip him, now my Iron got a solo M on it
I say, best flow in battle rap, Iron gon’ taste defeat
Shooting my way outta the Lou’ like David Lee
You talking about that one thang, like Amerie
And make a nigga bite the curb trying to say he street
Don’t play with beef, this germ will go to Hell
Get to dumping the gauge ’til the barrel burning on the 12
Your whole team’ll see Hawks, I’m Richard Sherman with the shells
It go dummy behind bars like Ernest Goes To Jail
I visit one where Iron step
Rip the torso of his body from the entire rest
The Amazon will go crazy for the fire stick
The challenger is getting cooked: I’m an Iron Chef
This is an AGC thing
Nike across his mil’ into my ACG lane
Iron gon’ get the metal steel
You’ll get checked in advance that’s a record deal
Check the real, I’m dope as the bottom of the damn blender
It’s B-Magic versus one nutty transgender
He’ll be laying stiffer than a Sandra Bland picture
When I fire across his yard like a Klan member
But my niggas down for the gang violence
Every ten or fifteen minutes the same sirens
Shut ’em up, we ain’t gotta bang Iron, a left will hush him up
You get a right to remain silent
If Real Deal had the “Howdy partner let’s get a beer” look
You must be the punk ass Jew go get the beer rook’
Step ten feet from the table and get the beer took
Probably got a little Yamaka on in your yearbook
I be swerving through the trenches, cowboy, two 8’s on him
Michael Irvin with the biscuits, I’ma just see the win
Jesse Owens, you get it?
Cause I take a Jew off the game, that’s the ’36 Olympics
Round 2 nigga

[Round 2: Iron Solomon]
So you saying you retiring, cause the game ain’t inspiring
I hate a no good worker who trying to quit before you fire him
I mean, if you ain’t give us your two week notice, nobody would notice
No diss, these are just facts and you know dis
You stopped putting your heart toward the craft of the art form
Only rap for the paper so you write you write on every card bored/cardboard
And to us it’s confusing because we used to see the passion
But I guess it was just an illusion, not even YOU believe in Magic
They used to beg to see you rhyme, but now you never even try
This ain’t yo’ destiny, that’s fine, but let your legacy survive
You keep tarnishing your name and eventually it dies
I feel like I gotta kill you to keep yo’ memory alive
Because Magic’s lack of confidence is a cancer
And my plan for stoppin’ it is this ox in my hand
It’s my antioxidant and when you see me running in yo’ house it’s fatal
You get stuck in yo’ crib like a couch potato
You see, quitting is some bitch shit
You wanna switch genders
I’m trying to stop you from being a pussy, I’m Kris Jenner
Maybe I should face the facts that you washed up, table scraps
Since you quitting the game of rap then I’ma bring the fade to black, but wait
But answer me this question
Where you going after you quitting?
Back to Missouri, so you could focus on your Cripping?
Cause you rep the blue in the Lou’ like you the mayor there
Til the real Crips roll up on him like stair chair
Or them fives popping with the heaters trying to keep it lit
Throw they flames up in face and make you plead the fifth
See I just don’t believe the shit, something doesn’t seem to fit
How you repping C’s but yo’ name got a B in it?
How we know that B legit/B-Legit if we don’t ever meet the clique/The Click
I ain’t never seen a Crip as shaky as the C’s/seas you’re with
Y’all a bunch of local Locs who go to Sunday mass
Come home that night and write some gun play raps
You be in every round tripping, this the one way pass
Getting paper from yo’ lines but they just ain’t facts
You the Hors d’oeuvre before the entrees pass
I seen through to the real meal, you’re the buffet glass
I got an appetite for Crab but him and me in different leagues
Where’s Surf? I’m too B.I.G. to get crippled by little C’s/Lil’ Cease
You like sixth best in the midwest, is you kidding me?
You think you can kill King Iron Solomon in the Middle East?
See, it’s a mystery why y’all consider B a threat
You are little league at best, the epitome of “ehh”
But you brought your camp gassing how quickly we forget
I just literally went toe to toe with Hitler in the flesh!
So that’s aight hype him and be the reason that I strike him
And I’m like fighting the white viking, Iron Kike Tyson ain’t Jackson
Saying you beatin’ me on my writing, you getting Massacred but at least you can die trying
You get bodied in a war, we know he’d die
It kills me that people say B O.D. why? (B.O.D.Y.)
Oh Lord, if only he could read he can tell
That when I’m up against Magic I can beat him with a spell
Lie down, you a dying man who could’ve stood a fighting chance
But name yourself “Magic” and never learn no sleight of hand
See yo’ punchline wizardry I mastered it faster
I done took your book of potions studied chapter by chapter
Y’all wanna see a trick I learned? Take this magical rapper
Transform him into a corpse, abracadabra

[Round 3: B-Magic]
I keep a chopper
In case a nigga try to rush and fail
I drag around his dead body, nigga fuck the smell
After he don’t break fast when I dump the 12
I’ma let his egg fold when I bust a shell
Russian steel
Yeah, you can get the 47
And I’m a 25 packer like Dorsey Levens
It’s more to tell him, I came in with the 40
Big ass shells talking too
It’s a Never Ending Story
You see Never Ending Story? Well this where I belong dog
If I ain’t talking, then I’m talking with iron
It’s on y’all, keep playing, and your fam’ gon’ be getting that phone call
I keep a bad ass gun on my side like Road Dogg
It’s B-Magic motherfucker, it’s only right I say the show arrives
Your baby mama got a beard and her shoulder’s wide
Her left arm short ass, she got Oprah thighs
Pussy smell like a nigga with Ebola died
Fuck the joking, I bust what I’m toting ’til your skull is open
Bullet fragments curving your spine like Scoliosis
Beat your chest not a flesh from your shoulder’s bulging
Been testing niggas since the 90’s like Maury Povich
So listen Iron, you don’t want these missiles flying
And the double barrel pump leaving your shit divided
Like Frank Gathers on Empire when I spit the fire
You can die behind bars and get killed for lying
Weird shit, fuck a gun, I got two hands to kill with
On some Arkham City Batman silent kill shit
Duck the punch, you fuck around get hit with a heel kick
Bitch I’m Wheatley with the poetry, you gon’ feel this
Google that
Location on, found him on Google Map
Fettuccine a nigga ceiling, I’ll knock your noodle flat
Tell me something this one nut Jewish nigga can do for rap
He can say he draw and cock, he feeling Superbad
Say, got the car running, bumping Weeknd
Feeling like Marshawn how I’m running through your defense
You at work?
I come and take him out his office like impeachment
You couldn’t protect money with prenuptial agreement
I told ’em once
(This motherfucker scared, I’m from the motherfucking Lou’
This how a motherfucker play it)
Beat me?
(Can you believe what this motherfucker said?
You must’ve slipped, fell, and bumped your motherfucking head!)

[Round 3: Iron Solomon]
It was like Batman versus Superman when Bloque and Homi intersected
You verse Money was Wonder Woman, not the body we expected
From the name flip king, is you serious bro?
That style I used to kill Jin ten years ago
So you taking that title I can never respect you
Getting the credit that should be mine is identity theft
So you might be the spot holder to the average fan
But compared to how Iron skillet you a flash in the pan
See they say this battle is like B-Magic verse B Rabbit
Cause I’ll make you show me bunny ears if I see carrots/karats
The set that he’s flagging, O.G.’s try to teach Magic
But couldn’t school him right if you test him he C average
I don’t fancy what the fans see in you, what I sees average
And I don’t need glasses to see through the theatrics
You speaking on beef tactics without any street status
Hugging your fat wife is the only time that you squeeze ratchets!
You give her basic cable, my tubes the complete package
You should let me bang her box if you don’t wanna see static
Me and that bitch straight fuck until the weave matted, the sheet tattered
And then face-fuck until her teeth shattered
When we smash, it’s like she’s in labor, we keep at it
I tell her, “Breathe and don’t stop pushing” until she’s had it
Yeah I was gone for awhile but they letting me sneak back in
The wigger that be blacking, I’m bringing what B lacking
Got the shotgun smoking, it don’t got a weed habit
Leave you curled in a box like the spring on a cheap mattress
Y’all remember, when that battle with him and Big T happened?
It was fitting to be classic, then Jerry got erratic
Hit a slippery slope, he stumbled and he panicked
Blew one line, it was all downhill like a ski addict
The same shit we seen happen like a hundred other times
That you done slipped, fell, and forgot your motherfucking rhymes
I mean, we done got so used to you choking
We thought “Fuck…” was your new slogan!
It ain’t the same on the screen as when you write in your book
You Etch-A-Sketch and go blank and lose your lines when you shook
We seen your bright future fade away, turn into a rainy day
This fucking choking and getting beat turned Black to 50 Shades Of Grey
But it’s cool, you had a dope run on SMACK
A couple of brief years
‘Til they ditched you like Dose, chucked the deuce and said, “Peace, square.”
Then they made you double up with Chilla just to compete there
They knew a 2-on-2 was the only way you’d be prepared/pre-paired
I mean, its cool, no it’s cool, you were hot for a few summers man
These newcomers ain’t really built for war like the new Hummers
But me? I’m married to the game without a prenup
Could count more years in these rings than a tree stump
Yo, I give three fucks ’bout John Cena vs Hollow Da Don Diva
I see all your death in these lines, I’m a palm reader
Yeah, I been a top threat, and I ain’t in my prime yet
I ain’t hit a stride, or driven by the finish line yet
So who finna die? Pick a time
Your quick demise met
You’ll get victimized, Ichabod: whose head I chop next?
I’m still a little rusty, getting rid of cobwebs
Working out the kinks the only Diz’ is not dead
I signed a triple-battle deal, and delivered threefold
And after this third round, that completes the 3-0

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